Lifelong learning

More than anything this year I’m hoping I get a Masterclass Pass for the holidays.

I’m enthralled with the idea of taking classes on subjects taught by the people who excel in those topics.

Bobbi Brown for makeup.

Annie Leibovitz for photography.

Margaret Atwood for creative writing.

What is better than learning more on a topic from an expert in the field?

Has anyone heard of Masterclass and moreover, has anyone bought a subscription to their service?

Mostly, I’d like to learn to take better photos and write better posts for this blog.

Because really when it boils down to it, this is what I enjoy the most and want to succeed at the most.

Also, I seem to have this endless desire to learn something new while sheltering in place so that when covid is under control, I can say that I improved myself instead of spending all my time watching tv and scrolling through TIkTok.

I’m a big advocate of lifelong learning and I think that Masterclass might fit the bill.


I write about what I love.

What I feel passionate about.

My kids.

Burning Man.




Some people love when I write about them.

Others don’t want the exposure.

My response when people ask me not to blog about them is always to respect their boundaries.

Internally my response is different, however.

Internally, I’m hoping that they don’t do anything interesting or entertaining.

Because ultimately, I write about what is interesting (to me).

Thankfully, most of my friends are okay with being blogged.

Perhaps they understand better than most that if a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.

You live on forever in the words that captured your essence.

Personally, I’d love to fall for a writer.

I find writers to be some of the most romantic people out there in the world.

Because I express myself well through written words I pair up nicely with someone else who enjoys the written word.

It’s just that simple.

I’m dying to write about more people, including but not limited to a significant other.

There’s not much else I can be doing to meet someone during a pandemic, but I certainly can write about the friends I love and cherish.

When a writer writes about you, you live forever.

Okay Writer

Nothing about my blog is elevated or lofty.

I’m not the best writer.

At my best, I’m brave.

At my worst, I’m boring.

Some blogs I’m particularly proud of.


Not so much.

Lately, I’ve been writing a bunch of not-so-great blogs.

But lately, life has been not so great.

And I’m doing okay.

No Covid-19 (yet).

I (still) have a job and health insurance.

I (currently) have a home.

So take everything I say with a grain of salt.

I write because I once heard that it takes 10,000 hours to get good at something (was it Malcolm Gladwell?).

If blogging nearly every day for 15 years doesn’t count as getting good at something, then I don’t know what does.

I practice.

And keep practicing.

It’s all I can do.

Inquiring minds want to know. . .

It’s been hard work blogging lately.

Inspiration is hard to come by.

There’s only so much I can write about dates, men, and my activities.

Clearly, I need to get out and do more because this just isn’t cutting it.

I even have a tickler file I keep to help me find inspiration when inspiration is lacking and that’s doing nothing for me.

Personally, I think it’s lack of sex that’s zapping my creativity.

When I’m turned on, I write better.

When I’m drunk, I write better (I edit sober, however).

When I’m stoned, I write better.

Does that mean I should crossfade while having sex?

Well, I’d like to think so, but sadly that is not the case.

I’ve sworn to not jump into bed with any man and so even the new guy has to wait.

And it’s killing me.

I like to sample the goods, you know.

And yes, of course I need to know what kind of person he is:

  • Whether or not he gives up his seat to the elderly on a crowded bus.
  • If he will help out a friend with a flat tire on the side of the road.
  • Whether he’s generous and volunteers his time and talent for worthy causes.

So there’s a lot of IMPORTANT SHIT to get to know about the new guy.

But also, I’m curious about his lovemaking skills.

Is that so wrong?

Well color me guilty if it is.

Inquiring minds want to know. . .

Sliding naked down a hot slide

I struggle with my blog posts quite a bit.

Should I write truthfully, changing names to protect people’s identity?

Or should I only write a version of the truth, putting a spin on things so that no one gets cross at me?

It’s a tough tightrope to walk.

On the one hand, I want to capture events as close to reality as possible.

On the other hand, sometimes people don’t behave as well as they should as the results are. . . well. . . entertaining.

The other day I wrote a password protected post.

In it, I described being intimate with an [ahem] well-endowed man with very little foreplay.

You can imagine the results.

I cross my legs just thinking about it.

What I left out was that I probably instigated the sex prematurely when I handed my partner a bottle of lube.

Not for sex, but for lubrication.

I was damp from the hot tub and he was dry.

Touching him was like trying to slide naked down a hot slide.

It was sticky so I grabbed lube!

I left out other key details as well.

So although I didn’t lie, the truth wasn’t captured completely, and the blog post made my date sound like a real jerk when the reality was he really was only trying to make me happy.

Who’s the jerk now?

In any case, I’ve decided that since I will continue to blog, I need to be as accurate as possible.

But I also anticipate that I will get in trouble again.

People just want to censor you when you mention them.

Par for the course in blogging.

Honestly, writers should come with a warning:

But also?



I’m reminded once again of how important it is to tell the truth.

And how easy it is to bend it.

I told a story, loosely based on an experience I had and although I told some of the truth, I left out key details that altered the tone of the story.

Big mistake!

Always tell the truth.

I will acknowledge that sometimes the truth is hard.

But didn’t Hemingway say, “Write hard and clear about what hurts”?

Well, I didn’t and it’s come back to bite me in the ass.

I’ve discovered I’m terrible at withholding information.

Information that changes the nature of my interactions.

I’m not clear whether it’s because I have a fear of confrontation or because I just don’t feel empowered to be open and honest.

Either way, I’m sitting here thinking about truth and honesty and how dangerous it is to skirt the slippery slope of non-fiction writing.

And although we’re almost halfway through this year, I’ve resolved to spend less time blogging what isn’t 100% true and more time blogging what is.

And of course, being more vocal about my own thoughts and feelings, in situ.

Because withheld information ALWAYS has a way of coming to the surface and it’s better to deliver the truth yourself than through a password-protected blog post.


Oh, don’t worry.

I haven’t been censored in a week.

The last time I was censored, Tejas asked me to edit my post about losing my pants at SoulFire so that he didn’t sounds quite so. . . so. . .


But hello, I did EMPHASIZE that the cocktail I gave him at SoulFire was the same as slipping him a Mickey.

I try to point this out at every opportunity I get.

I “dosed” my friend.

I do have something to say about censorship, however.

People I know.

Liberal-minded, forward-thinking, educated individuals have censored me.

Once, a woman came up to me at the burn and said, “I prefer if you don’t blog about me.”

To which I wanted to respond, “Then don’t do anything INTERESTING!” only to realize that that was redundant.

And now, here I am, blogging about her.

I will say this, however.

There are people, lifestyles, events, and activities that I participate in or have friends who participate in which sort of defy explanation and get lost in translation.

If you ask me if my work knows that I go to Burning Man, the answer is “No.”

And that’s just an annual artistic community experiment in the desert.

What if there were other activities, outside the mainstream?

It has dawned on me, very slowly, that in spite of this blog, I do need to protect the identities and interests of some of my friends who trust me and continue to invite me to participate in their events.

So not everything goes in the blog.

I censor myself.


write2-copyIt’s funny.

At least *I* think it’s funny.

You see, I’m a blogger so everything I experience is an opportunity to write something about it:

  • Kissing ex boyfriends in RVs at SoulFire.
  • Taking a dip in the hot tubs with men of questionable repute.
  • Peeing my pants in a onesie costume because I couldn’t get it off in time.

It’s all fodder for the blog. Even the stuff that makes me look like a nut case.

Sometimes I wonder how my friends and family REALLY feel about this blog.

Oh, of course to my face they like it and encourage me to write.

But really, deep down, how do they feel about being WRITTEN ABOUT and READING THE INTIMATE DETAILS OF MY LIFE.

There’s a saying among us writers:

If a writer falls in love with you, you never die.

write1There’s another saying though and it goes something like this:

Don’t piss off a writer. We’ll DESCRIBE you.


I just want to publicly thank all my friends and family who put up with me and this tacky blog – whether I’ve given you a nickname or not.

Every time I write about my friends and family, I do it with love and respect and of course a HUGE dose of courage that they’ll be okay with what I write.

Thanks to them for putting up with me.

It takes a good sense of humor.

Am I a writer?

Am I a writer?

That’s a good question.

I certainly sit at the computer and type words into sentences on the screen.

But does that make me a writer?

I have a friend who is a published poet.

She writes amazing things that make me catch my breath and pause a moment in awareness that she has struck some significant sympathetic chord in me.

What do I write?

Blurbs about my life, dating, and the adventures that my life brings to me.

Occasionally, I SHOUT.

I’ve never really thought of myself as a writer.

Except that I am.

There’s more truth on the pages of unblunder than there is in the pages of an encyclopedia.

And occasionally there’s more depth – as evidenced by me admitting to experimenting with fringe sexual practices and chronicling my (mis) adventures, especially in dating.

Someday I may write a book.

But right now, I’m going to focus on this blog which is a guilty pleasure for many.

I’m trying to make sense of this world and my place in it.

Heaven knows I don’t have all the answers.

Do you?