Me and the Swede


I talked to the Swede again.

And by talk, I mean text.

And by Swede, I mean genuinely, authentically from Sweden.

He’s tall and handsome and kisses like his life depends on it.

It’s sooooooo good.

We went on a first date a few months ago when he was visiting the Bay Area for work.

We said goodnight without kissing goodbye.

We went on a second date a little later and again said goodbye without kissing goodnight.

Then something came over us on the third date.

Perhaps he figured “why not at least TRY kissing her?”

I know I thought I’d been friend zoned.

Then he kissed me and WOW!


So he’s coming back to the Bay Area in May.

And if he can swing it, he might be here for UnSCruz which I’ve described as a moveable party with fire spinning, music, dance, art, performance, and community.

There’s even a wedding this time around!

I think he was intrigued.

So cross your fingers that he can arrange his travel and make it to UnSCruz.

It’ll be a hell of a time, I’ll tell you that!


Men and the woodwork

MichelleSince I’ve been BANNED FROM DATING I’ve been asked out on 3 dates.

First there’s Jeremy, who is a Land Surveyor. He lives in Livermore, has two kids and likes to ride his bicycle 60 miles at a stretch. Jeremy is a recovering alcoholic.

Then there’s Max. Max is a 6’4” contractor living in the bay area. He has one son and is also a recovering alcoholic.

And lastly there’s Tony. Ah, Tony. Tony is also 6’4”. Tony is not an alcoholic. He has no kids and he’s a professional chef turned sheet metal foreman. He has three older sisters and lord knows I love a man with sisters. He also has biceps that make me swoon.

If I was a 4 yesterday, I’m a 6 today so the trend is increasing.

I do find it ironic though that when I’m at a 4 (out of 15) I seem to attract recovering alcoholics*.

Ummm…. what does that say about MY ENERGY if it’s similar to a recovering alcoholic?

I can practically HEAR my life coach lecturing me!



* Which isn’t to say that all recovering alcoholics are 4s. I’m sure there at 15s out there. I’m just attracting the 4s.


photo(22)Gavin broke his foot this weekend.  He landed on it wrong and just cracked the bone clear in half.  I got the call that he needed to go to the ER while I was getting a blow out for a date that evening.  Oh well, so much for the date, I figured.  I packed Gav up in the truck and headed to the ER.  He was splinted and out of the ER in under 2 hours so I still had time for my date.

And it was awful.  Not just awful but AWFUL – in all caps, just like that.  First of all, he announced halfway through our date that the “Mexicans” were in a conspiracy to take over our government.  Um, really? His racism astounded me and was so offensive I should’ve ended the date there.

He kept asking me, “So what are your hobbies?”  So I told him – hiking, camping, rafting, quilting, etc.  Then he asked again, “What other hobbies do you have?”  Um…. Cooking, cleaning, working, driving my car?  And “Do you play any sports?” No.  He seemed wildly disappointed in me.

He also kept burping the whole time we were out together.  I mean not just a burp here and there, but a burp every minute.  All I could think was “I am NOT kissing that  mouth.”

But what finally did him in is that he was sweating profusely for our entire date.  He kept taking cocktail napkins and mopping his face and forehead, then setting the napkin down right by our food.  Oh gross.  I pictured myself underneath him with his sweat dripping all over me and I nearly ended the date right then and there.

Did I also mention that he had girly hands?  Tiny delicate little girl hands.  This may not seem like a big deal to you but when you’re a girl who likes big, burly man hands, tiny little women hands just don’t do it.

Eventually, I got so tired that I had to ask him to take me home.  No sense in prolonging a date this painful.

He drove me home and looked at me expectantly from across the front seat.

No.  No way in hell, I thought.

And with that I got out of the car.

But then I felt bad so I leaned back into the car and gave him a hug .

His sweat covered my cheek.

Yes, his sweat was all over my cheek.

A parting gift, I suppose.

I will NOT be going out with him ever again.  I may just be scarred from going out with other men.

Just kidding….

…I have another date tomorrow afternoon.

The post about broken feet and bad dates

So I’m at DryWalk Blow Dry Bar getting my hair done for my date last night when I get a text message from my mom.

“Gavin hurt his foot.  He needs to be seen by a doctor.”

And just like that my dinner date evening in Los Gatos turned into an evening in the ER with my son, his broken foot and my ex husband.  Oh joy.


The ER however, was so fast that we were in and out with a splint and crutches (my son is THRILLED he’s on crutches) in about 2 hours, leaving me plenty of time for my date.

So I went out with Tony last night.  We went to the Jack Rose in Los Gatos for cocktails.  I had a Sazerac and Hemingway.  He had two gin and tonics.

But not even alcohol could save this date.  To begin with, Tony sweat profusely and used cocktail napkins to mop up the sweat which he then placed on the table by our food. Ew yuck.  He also burped all night long and announced about an hour into the date that, “The Hispanics are trying to take over our government….”

I should have ended the date right then and there.  I was getting tired and spending too much time stifling yawns to be a very good conversationalist, even if I’d wanted to.   I found myself daydreaming about Edward, another useless and painful pastime of mine.

I tortured myself with another hour of him asking me. “So what are your hobbies?  So what is another hobby of yours?  Tell me the last fun thing you did….” and so on.


He was so not my type I practically jumped out of the car when he brought me home.  Then I leaned back in, gave him a hug and said thank you and left for the comfort of my empty bed.

Oh ugh.  Have I mentioned how much I hate dating now.

Happy Singles Awareness Day

Valentine’s Day (aka Singles Awareness Day) sucks for us single people.  All day long, people have been asking me my plans for Valentine’s Day.  You wanna know what my plans are?  I’m going to go home and masterbate after drinking an entire bottle of champagne by myself while watching “The Notebook” and crying because that movie is just so damned romantic.  And I’m going to try really hard not to think of Edward out on a date falling in love with another woman. And when I fail to do that I will just go to bed early to give myself some relief for the sadness.

Anything and everything is romantic on Valentine’s Day.  And I get to hear about all of it in vivid detail on Facebook.  In sickeningly sweet romantic detail.

“My wife is too perfect for words…”

“He showed up with his hands full of beautiful long stem roses…”

Oh gag! Gag! GAG!

The most genuinely romantic thing I saw on Facebook for Valentine’s Day is my step-sister’s post.  She just had baby #2 the day before Valentine’s Day and she posted “Family is what happens when two people fall in love.”

So no, I’m not completely bitter about Valentine’s Day.  In fact, I’m celebrating the fact that I have a date tomorrow.  At a fancy restaurant in Los Gatos.  LOL  Oh history, you do repeat yourself don’t you?

I’m not saturated with bitterness, but if I was it might be because I just got an email from a guy complimenting my rack.  This is how he introduced himself to me.  Yes, these are the men who are single and available to us single ladies. And now you know why I’m still single – the dating pool out there is a little inbred, inebriated and inept.  I can’t imagine why he’s single, can you?  But he’s sure as hell right about my rack 😉

Bitterness is personified by my sister who wrote on Facebook “I don’t give a fuck about Valentine’s. Or work. Or anything. I need chocolate.”  Touche Lisa.  She even added this lovely image to solidify her stance on V-Day:


She’ll likely feel better when she gets the flowers, teddy bear and chocolate my boys and I sent her.  The day will definitely improve for her then.  Because in the end, all we really want on Valentine’s Day is to feel special… to have someone, anyone do a little something to make our day brighter.  Make us feel cared for.

Sure, I’d love to go home and have someone sexy to hug, share a romantic meal with, and go mattress dancing with, but that’s ignoring the fact that I have two teenage boys who love me who will probably give me a hug when I get home then ignore me the rest of the night while they play video games and I watch a sappy romantic movie while drinking aforementioned bottle of champagne.  I’ll likely contact some of my flirty friends and swap sexy texts.

Then I’ll fall asleep, drunk on champagne bubbles and wake up with a headache ready to relight my beacon of optimism and go out on a date with Tony.  That’s exactly what I’ll do.