“I Find You Intimidating In A Good Way…”

I had fun last night. I met a guy who was cute, smart, funny, attentive, and…. was 4 years old when I lost my viginity. Seriously! Every guy in the bar was older than me EXCEPT him. Yet, he’s the only one who was talking to me. I have to revisit the pheromone  issue from two posts ago. Clearly I give off a scent.

Or perhaps I’m intimidating and guys my age and older think that’s a bad thing and guys who are younger think it’s a good thing. Let me explain.

At the end of the night when he hadn’t yet asked for my number, but wanted to feel me out, he got really close and said, “I find you intimidating… in a good way. Do you know what I mean?”

I did know what he meant, but I didn’t say it to his face. What he meant was, I hadn’t given him reason to believe I was going to fall at his feet the way other girls must. By “intimidating” he really meant confident and elusive. And by “in a good way” he meant that he didn’t think I was in the bag and he likes a challenge.

This guy is more than a decade younger than me.  I’m not interested.  So there’s no challenge.. it’s just a NO. I am committed to looking for a relationship and that large of an age gap is not the start of one.  Besides, he doesn’t come with kids and I want a guy who comes with kids.

Even though I’ve had some pretty large age gaps, I had a big reality check last week.  I was at my book club meeting where I go monthly to meet chicks, and I met a really cool one. She just happened to be 14 years older than me. Beautiful, well dressed, likes to go out, which is fine because she’s a chick and therefore I have no interest in dating. The reality check was how despite her being beautiful and hip, she still seemed much older than me, and it made me wonder, how do I seem to these guys who are in there twenties?

Don’t answer that! I really don’t want to know. Granted many of the younger guys I’ve been with have told me how old they thought I was and they were always off by at least 8 years, but still. I mean Pierce Brosnan is 58 and he is frickin handsome… but I look at him and think he is too old to date (ignoring the fact that he’s married to make a point). Even when I was in my 20s and he was in his 40s and I met him through one of my jobs. He was so handsome, but still, in my opinion too old!

Back to The Princess Bride… I call him that because he told a really funny story about when he was a kid he would watch Princess Bride while “taking care of himself” playing and rewinding over and over again Buttercup’s line “Oh my sweet Westley.” That’s his name. I know, I don’t usually use names, but the story was hilarious, so I must give credit where credit is due.

Unfortunately my sweet Wesley, this Buttercup does not desire to be captured or saved by an adorable youngster. So alas, I bid you farewell.



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Pardon Me While I Interrupt This Fictionalized Blog…

I know I know it’s a romantic comedy fictionalized blog but I HAD to interrupt it for some REALLY EXCITING REAL LIFE NEWS… No I’m not engaged! Have you been reading this blog? I don’t even have a boyfriend!

Okay, let me refresh your memory. Remember back on May 23rd when I had Skinny Girl Margarita Tour Bus Envy? Well two things have come to fruition since then:

1. Wild for Wildtree launched their Gluten free line… yay!

2. And that “book” that I whimsically joked about having in my boutique has just become a REALITY! As in, will be ready for purchase before the end of this month!!!

I am beyond excited and can’t wait to share it with you. It’s my first fiction book, and was literally written because of the seed that was planted in my mind the night I wrote that blog entry.

Originally it was going to be a non-fiction self-help type book like Bethany’s and then I realized I needed far too much help to write a self-help book, so better to stick to what I know— imaginary romance. It’s a chick-lit book. If you’ve never heard of that genre, here’s the Wiki definition:

“Chick lit is genre fiction which addresses issues of modern womanhood, often humorously and lightheartedly. The genre sold well during the 1990s and 2000s, with chick lit titles topping bestseller lists and the creation of imprints devoted entirely to chick lit. Although it sometimes includes romantic elements, chick lit is generally not considered a direct subcategory of the romance novel genre, because the heroine’s relationship with her family or friends is often just as important as her romantic relationships.”

Just up my alley, right?

I have to thank my dear friend Kathy Hoffman who designed my book cover (which unbeknownst to me included the back and the spine– in other words she worked her ass off for me!) and digitized all of the artwork for the interior (I have no idea what that means, but she made my artwork look great and I know it was time consuming). Kathy, I can’t thank you enough! You are truly AMAZING!!!

It’s been SO hard to not share the whole writing process with you, but at least you understand why I haven’t been writing as frequently as I had in the past. I am dying to share the cover with you… but being the tease that I am, I’m going to make you wait just a little bit longer. Tomorrow the publisher will let me know the release date and you will be the first to know about it!

Okay… I’ll give you a taste.  The picture from this post is from the introduction. Don’t be afraid to take a sip it, there’s no alcohol in it. It’s a Dirty Virgin Martini…

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A Sound Only A Dog Can Hear

You know how there are high frequency sounds that only dogs can hear? Well I think I am excreting a chemical pheromone that only guys under 30 can smell! I mean it! I went out and was surrounded by men my age for three hours. I was hit on exactly once (well twice but by the same guy). Guess who?

Wait for it….

The valet who just happened to look like an 18-year-old James Marsden. At least I’m hoping he’s at least 18! It was his first night on the job and I assume a high-schooler would not be working valet on a school night… but then again the valet did close at 10. How do I know this? Because when I pulled up to the complimentary valet stand to ask for directions to a country bar I could not find, he offered to take my car and walk me over there. I told him it would be easier for me to drive my car to wherever the bar was, and he wouldn’t have to leave his stand.

Then he looked at me with those sexy James Marsden eyes and said, “Please, I’m so bored.”

He was begging.. I had to say yes. But first, I asked him what time the valet closed. He said 10pm. “Well that won’t work,” I told him, because I knew my friend’s band would be on until midnight.

Young James Marsden got really close and showed me a ticket, and told me that he was going to write on it where I was going, then bring my car over there and personally deliver the keys to me at 10pm. Hmmm. Interesting and way above the call of valet duty, so I had to comment. I asked him if this was typically the type of service he provided. He just smiled that seductive James Marsden smile.

I was about to hand over my key, when I said, “Wait a minute, how are you going to remember who I am?” A reasonable question, he was going to be parking for 2 more hours.

“Oh, I couldn’t forget someone as beautiful as you.”

Ruh Roh! Smoooooooth James Valet Marsden! Very smooth. I handed over my keys, but as I was stepping out of the car, he blocked me in with his body, and asked, “how exactly does this car work?”

I was not falling for that, but I was willing to give him a lesson none-the-less, as it is a hybrid and I didn’t want my battery to be dead when I got back.

He leaned into my car as I demonstrated the ONE button that you press to turn the car on and off.

“It’s so quiet,” he marveled. “How do you know it’s on?”

I should have kept my mouth shut, but it’s me…

“It’s just like anything else, when it’s turned, you know.” And with that, I got out of my car, rubbed up against him and put my hand in his hand as I gave him the key. “Now which way did you say the bar was?”

He walked me there. It was in the next shopping center over. Dang my young man attracting pheromones!

A had a great time. Did some line dancing. Ran into a girl whose been going to the same places I have. And sure enough, at 10pm, my young valet stud found me. I pulled his tip out of my pocket and when I handed it to him, he said that he’d better take me outside for a moment so he could show me where my car is.

I followed him out of the bar and really wanted to card him. I mean he couldn’t have been older than 20 and that’s being generous. Even I would have felt very WRONG going there. He showed me where my car was and told me to have fun with a mischievous smile.

At 12:15 pm I found myself in my car… alone the way I always leave a bar, and to my shock, found that James Valet Marsden had left his phone number in my console.

I DID NOT CALL… but, geez! What is with the youngins doing all of the hitting on me?!?!?!?

I need someone to cast a spell on me to attract 40-year-old James Marsden look a-likes!

I’ll save his number just in case I need it… in 5 years when I’m sure he’s over 20!


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Classic Rock Mini-Golf

What could be a more romantic date than mini-golf? Let me set the stage: Me pretending I’ve never held a putter before, and him in typical romantic comedy form, standing behind me arms over mine, teaching me the swing, on a truly romantic course. This is no ordinary mini-golf course. I was expecting tacky windmills and chipped paint falling from old weathered “hazards” which swallow your ball. But this, this was a botanical paradise (and they had the award to show for it from the orchid society). Yes, this was a tiny slice of paradise, which squeezed in two 18-hole mini courses.

The trees and flowers were labeled with placards to identify the Plumeria flower he picked and slid behind my ear. Each hole was like an actual course only smaller. No funhouse tricks, just tiny sand traps, the potential to drive your ball into a pond (or a waterfall which was beautiful… pictures were taken), and the hills that were impossible to see until your ball was suddenly sent in another direction.

I decided I was going to play mini-golf like I play pool… CHEAT! My date and I would take a walk ahead and survey the hole, uncover the potential traps, feel the rise and fall of the green under our feet. We were averaging 2 or 3 swings per hole, which was much better than the 5 or 6 I was scoring before I declared we were going to cheat.

The trees are already decorated for the holidays, and while normally this would bug me because it’s not even Thanksgiving yet, it made the atmosphere even more magical. And to top it off… the sound system that was hidden and coming from everywhere, was playing classic rock. SCORE! Elton John, Billy Joel, The Beatles… It was great!

Until the 10th hole. During the 10th hole I was about to sink my ball with my second stroke when out of the hidden speakers came the guitar chords that always cause that sinking feeling in my stomach. Even before Eric Clapton gets a few chords in, I change the station, but here I was, trapped at the tenth hole, on my 8th YES 8TH stroke, still unable to sink the ball because my mind was elsewhere.

Wonderful Tonight always takes me back to my dorm room junior year. I will still never know how First Love got into my room, put that cassette tape in my boom box (yes, this was a looooooong time ago), and left the note that read “Press play, this is how I feel.” It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me. And it was at that moment, that a “music anchor” was created in my physiology. And at this particular moment, that music anchor was screwing up my score.. and worse.. my date!

The song ended, I sunk my ball, but the magic of the night was ruined. It’s not like this date was “the one” but when you’re being reminded of what he’s being compared to, it’s like, why bother with the second course? Of course I did, to be polite, but my mind was already made up. “No,” I didn’t want ice cream (not that I could eat it anyway), “No,” I didn’t want to go get a non-alcoholic beverage somewhere else, and “No,” I did not want to go out again. The later being the most confusing “no” to him, as far as he knew the night was going great. But he couldn’t see the invisible line he was being measured up against and was falling oh so short of. Not that he should feel badly, he’s in the company of many good men who’ve fallen before him.

One day, someone WILL measure up. Until that day…




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Rodeo And Line Dancing AKA Gittin’ My Cowgirl On!

Well, I don’t know about you, but I had a FUN weekend! Saturday, I went to my very first rodeo, and I’m not talking about shopping on the “drive” in Beverly Hills, I’m talking about a bull riding, barrel racing, and lassoing calves while riding a horse (there’s a name for that, but I don’t remember what it is) ro-de-o.

I saw real cowboys, y’all. Unfortunately, they kinda sucked. I don’t mean to call them out, I imagine what they’re trying to do is really hard, but not one of them completed the task of their event. I didn’t know what was supposed to be the end result. Two cowboys come riding out of a gate with lassos twirling (I don’t think cowboys would like that word, but I don’t know how else to describe it) and a calf runs out and they are supposed to, I assume, catch it by the horns and the back legs. But all of the calves got away. They missed them! And it’s not like they were greased piglets. They weren’t slippery. And the MC kept announcing that these guys were world champions. I’d like to know “of what” because I’m guessing it’s beer drinking because they certainly weren’t rodeo champions.

Then they invited about 100 children between 6 and 10 into the corral and gave them the task of chasing two calves around to pull the ribbons off of their tails. The two innocent little calves were so excited to be set free in the corral, they started running around happily and then all of a sudden they were terror stricken when 100 screaming kids rushed them!  It was almost as frightening as American Horror Story… but I tangentalize and being that it’s after midnight I REALLY don’t want to go down that tangent because that show scares the bull crap out of me…

And speaking of bulls… (like the way I segued there?) Bull riders are just flat out crazy!!! Who even came up with that competition? Some drunk cowboy I’m sure, because no sober one could possibly think THAT is a good idea! How do these guys not have whiplash?

Anyway, despite not being the best rodeo, it was a new life experience and it made me wonder what else is out there. I am going to make a list of all of the new life experiences that I want to have. You know how a long time ago, Dating Guru suggested I make a list of qualities that I want in a man? I’m going to go in another direction. I am going to make a list of dates I’d like to go on with the right man, and if he shows up, he can join me. If he doesn’t, I’m going to keep on living my life to the fullest. Next…

Hot Air Balloon! I want to go up in one! So that’s on my list. I’ll come up with more, so stay tuned.

Tonight I went line dancing. I really like going out in country bars. Everyone is there to have fun and the guys are over all very respectful. They ask you to dance and you have a good time and that’s it. Tonight I went with a guy friend whom everyone thought was my husband (country guys need to sharpen their detective skills and check the ring fingers before making that assumption) so the guys would ask his permission to dance with me. I MAY or MAY NOT have been dancing with Glenn from Most Eligible Dallas tonight. Either way the guy was hot and had a rock solid body. And he knew how to lead a girl around a dance floor, and trust me ladies, I am NOT easy to lead! He kept telling me to look at his eyes… it helped. Not only because they were so nice to look into, but it kept my mind off my feet. He was spinning me around like no one’s business. As he was leaving he asked my friend if it was alright if he said goodnight to his wife (that’s me). Upon being given permission, he kissed my hand and thanked me for dancing with him. Glenn or Not Glenn, I don’t think it was the heat that was making my jeans stick to my thighs!

I need to find me a good ole cowboy! Yee-frickin’-haw!



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Stop gazing! Seriously, stop gazing! You’re still gazing aren’t you? What are you gazing at? The pecs? The shoulders? The biceps? The Abs? The money line? Yummm love that money line! Or is it the kettle bell? What? You want to see what’s behind the kettle bell? I’m sure you do, but I’m afraid you have to stop gazing. It’s a rule apparently… at my gym… there’s a new sign. I literally laughed out loud. A sign not only stating that there is No Gazing, but it also explains what gazing is. It’s the act of staring or watching someone workout with your eyes staying on the same person for too long making them feel uncomfortable.

Other than the obvious– working out, what do they think we go to the gym for? I’m clearly a serial gazer. Am I going to get kicked out of the club or will I get a warning? And who busts me, other members? Because the guys I gaze at aren’t looking or I’d turn away.

And let’s get real for a second. Who the heck filed the “gazing grievance” and who of the higher-ups is he or she sleeping with because I’ve made some complaints and I never got a sign. Which do you think is more worthy of a sign?

A. No Gazing



Are you feeling me people? And we have no body bars. I’m small I need a 12 pound body bar or even a 20 pound straight bar. How about some straight bars?

I think this gym has bigger issues to prioritize than GAZING!

Alright, I think you get the point. This one is short and sweet, but my rant is over!


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Ocean Breath vs Orgasm Breath

It sounds funny but this is a serious matter! Do y’all know what Ocean Breath is? It’s another name for Ujjayi Breath, a breath technique employed in a variety of Hindu and Taoist Yoga practices. It’s also known as Hissing Breath or Victorious Breath.

Do you know what it’s NOT known as? Orgasm Breath or Arousal Breath!

There is a girl in my yoga class whom I’ll call Black Socks, because despite the teacher repeatedly suggesting she not wear socks during yoga, she still insists on wearing her black socks. Guess what? I have no problem with the socks! Her breathing on the other hand… I have a MAJOR problem with!

Black Socks is a thin attractive girl, although a little dirty looking. The first time she set up her mat next to me I didn’t think twice. In yoga my only concern is what’s happening on my mat (unless Rocker Yogi is teaching in which case my mind is on how close is he to me?)

However, the second time she placed her mat near mine my attention was diverted off of my mat. The chick was breathing like she was in a scene from a XXX film! It was beyond distracting! And what was even more strange was the fact that she has no flexibility whatsoever (not said with judgement simply an observation that pertains to my next sentence) so what was all the moaning about? When some people are really flexible, once in a while they push themselves a little too hard and may let some breath out of the mouth, but not like this!  Black Socks barely bends her knee for Warrior 1 or 2, yet she’s standing there making high pitch sighs and groans that make everyone within 3 mats of her VERY uncomfortable.

This past week, we had a sub who kept repeating, “breath through your nose not through your mouth,” every time she made her noises. He was turning beet red.. not because he was mad, but because as a gay man, he’d most likely never heard a woman make those noises.

Bottom line- she is majorly distracting and NOT in a good way. It’s actually pretty gross and for me to say that, you know it has to be bad.

I don’t know, perhaps this is a case for Dr. House. I’ve heard of a condition which causes women to have spontaneous orgasms, but in her case it never gets THAT far… thank the Lord!

So what do I do? Do I talk to my regular instructor and ask him to give a little speech on the difference between Ujjayi Breath and Orgasm Breath? Because seriously, no matter where I go in the room she always manages to find a spot near me and I can’t take it!!!!!

She also breaches sauna etiquette by playing her iPhone music through the speakers instead of through headphones. I don’t want to hear her bad music and I don’t want to hear her pornographic breathing!

I must plot the excommunication of Black Socks!



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The Basic Pillow AKA The Awesome Boobie Pillow!!!

First of all, HOW CUTE IS IT? Second of all, let’s talk about boobs. I’ve got big ones! You? It really doesn’t matter what size you have, the bottom line is, when you try to sleep on your stomach, you’re not flat. Obviously, the bigger your boobs, the higher you are off the mattress. I’m suddenly struck by how un-sexy I must look when I sleep. Like a tortoise with a long tail. (okay that was a really weird image).

Anyway, the point is, I was tired of smashing my boobs every night in hopes of getting a good night sleep. I was lucky enough to have a friend/masseuse who is a total chickpreneur! She invented this pillow and had me try it out for her. Not only is there a cut-out for the boobies, it also tapers down at the bottom to comfort your lower back.

I want to take my boobie pillow everywhere! I want to dress it in a bathing suit cover and take it to the beach so I can stop digging boobie holes in the sand so I can lie down comfortably. I want to dress it in lingerie so when I sleep over at a guy’s house (WHAT? It could happen… someday) he can go to sleep with the image of lingerie and lingerie and if he’s had a little to drink, can perhaps be convinced he’s had a threesome. I want to dress it in polka dots, so when I babysit for my friends’ kids I can nap with them on the floor instead of having to nap upright in a chair.

And PMS week… a breeze with the boobie pillow because it’s one size fits all boobies and let’s face it, we each have two sizes- normal and PMS size.

I wonder if I can dress it in black spandex and take it to yoga so when we do all the stomach poses that I usually skip because it hurts my boobies and my hip bones, I can do yoga on my boobie pillow! I think I’m going to start a new trend in yoga. The block, the blanket, and the boobie pillow!

I just had an idea! Grown-up Girlie Slumber Party! Girls, grab your boobie pillows and have a slumber party! Don’t you miss those? Think about it. When you were 9 you were on your sleeping bag, flat on your stomach with your knees bent, feet in the air, waiting with anticipation to hear what happened in a game of spin-the-bottle at recess the day before. How much better will the stories be now? And you know they will be because you read this blog, so you’ve got some va va voom in you…

I remember when I was at a slumber party for my friend’s 10th birthday and as we were going to sleep, her mom came down to the basement AKA playroom to tell us all that one of the girls was a sleepwalker and should she sleep walk NOT to wake her up because she could become violent and has super strength. I’m sure those were not her exact words, but that’s how my young brain interpreted it. Needless to say, I got NO sleep that night because I was terrified. Far more terrified from the thought of my super strong friend raising sleepwalking havoc on all of us, than from the ghost stories we were all telling.

At another friend’s sleepover, she informed us that her dead grandmother lived in her closet (the closet that my sleeping bag was positioned directly next to). She told us we didn’t need to be scared because her grandma was there to watch over her family. And the way she knew that her grandma was in the closet was because after her grandma made her first appearance, my friend went down to breakfast, told her parents about it, got her mom (who’s mother it was) very upset, until she told them about the cute pajamas that grandma was wearing. Apparently they were the new pajamas her mom had bought for grandma to wear in the hospital the night she died, so my friend had never seen them. This was verification that in fact, grandma was ghosting in the closet and the whole family was very happy about it… I was not thrilled and again didn’t sleep.

Hmmm… rule for the Grown-UP Girlie Slumber Party… no scary stuff! Just talk about funny things your kids do, interesting sex positions you want to try, and hot movie stars.

Okay so I tangentilized a bit. The bottom line is, every girl should have a boobie pillow. I love mine, and they’ve finally come to market. So check them out and if you want to have a boobie pillow slumber party… I’m in!

ps. I think the site may have just launched… CONGRATULATIONS!!!!


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The Magic Cowboy Hat

My loyal readers, FIRST a big apology for the long wait for an entry. Can you believe I’ve been out on the town and coming home too tired to write? Believe it! And it’s all thanks to my Magic Cowboy Hat!

When I first moved to Los Angeles, I worked in a restaurant with a girl who was from Texas. She was pretty, yet plain, and a total prude. Still men fawned all over her; taking her out, buying her gifts, and getting NOTHING in return, but a heavy dose of Southern charm.

I never thought about it until I went to a ritzy event recently in a cowboy hat. After the event I was going line dancing, so I also had my white “so you think you can dance” dress on, with high cowboy boots (from Nordstroms, so they were a cross between a high boot and a cowboy boot, very hot!)

Ladies, I have never received so much male attention in my life. Men of all ages were fighting for my attention. I didn’t know if it was the hat or the “southern charm” that men attach to a cowboy hat, that was attracting them, but once they started talking to me and didn’t hear an accent, I knew it was just the hat.

I was asked out by a 20-year-old, whom after I told him I could have a son his age, retorted with:

“You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who would be intimidated by my age.”

Nice try kid. My self-esteem is in tact, and your subtle manipulation is not going to work on me. The bottom line is, truth be told if he looked like my yoga teacher, he wouldn’t have gotten blown off, but a youngster who works at Godiva Chocolate in the mall and doesn’t know that in two years, he’ll be coming out of the closet, is of no interest to me.

Next I met the slick car salesman. He told me four times the Ferraris on display at the event were his. Little did he know I’d be far more impressed with an F150. The flatbed on that baby is far more comfortable on a back country road than trying to get it on in a Ferrari. Plus he’d be cryin’ about the mud on his car all night. Sorry Dude, wrong chick. Didn’t stop him from asking me for my number though. Men just don’t want to hear your polite rejections. They must wait for the big NO blow! Well, I guess I can’t blame him since there was a magic cowboy hat involved.

Finally, I met a charming older gentleman. I was befriending a female bartender at a cigar bar, discussing what a good strategy it would be for me to bring my laptop to her establishment to work/meet business men who smoke cigars. The older gentleman overheard and got a kick out of my plotting. He too asked for my number, but under the guise that he had an interest in my business and had contacts he could connect me with. At least this guy was down-to-earth. Clearly too old for me to date, but then again, with Loverville having hundreds of dates, I thought maybe I needed to open my mind. But since I’m catching you up on my last few weeks, you’re going to have to wait to hear about that one…

THEN, Socialite who had brought me to the ritzy “red-carpet” event had to bail on me because she was not feeling well, so I had to go to the line dancing bar alone. I learned some things:

1. The cowboy hat really is magic… it makes people instantly notice you and instantly like you.

2. When you go to a country bar alone, and one person asks you to dance, and you accept… you instantly become the “go-to” dance partner.

Let’s discuss being the “go-to” dance partner. It just took one guy to ask and for me to accept, that started a three hour continuous run on the dance floor. This included partners who were young and handsome, old with body odor (which unfortunately stuck to my dress.. thank goodness for Spring Breeze Tide!), and even a 60-something lesbian. Hey, I’m an equal opportunist. Everyone deserves a dance with the magic cowboy hat!

When the drunk old guys started getting pushy about me giving them my number, and were not taking my polite NOs very well, I decided it was time to call it a night.

As I returned to my car and felt how drenched I was from dancing outside in the humidity, it dawned on me. Perhaps the Magic Cowboy Hat was the initial attraction, but I think my perspiration AKA see-through white dress, may have been what maintained my dance card through the night. Yes, the white “so you think you can dance dress” is backless with a tie around the neck, which means.. no bra. And yes, there was a bit of extra material around the boob area creating stitched-like flower patterns, but after careful investigation, I think it may have been creating a feeding frenzy in the same vein as sharks to blood… yikes!

Bottom line..  I had fun and now want at least 3 more magic cowboy hats. My birthday is coming up… hint hint 🙂


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The Things We Do For Love… I Mean Lust

Before I write this blog I must send a BIG GET WELL SOON to AdventureBiz Babe! Early this week she was climbing Mount Whitney and got a terrible fever and couldn’t finish the climb. I could hear the frustration in her voice. She still got further than most humans would dare to go, so feel better AdventureBiz Babe, and next year will finally be your year!

Back to lust…

The past two weeks I have woken up at the ungodly hour (at least for me) of 7:30am. Three weeks ago, I tried and failed, so since then, I’ve put provisions into place.

1. Go to bed by 10:30pm

2. Set my alarm and double check that it’s set for am NOT pm (like 3 weeks ago)

3. Have a girlfriend call me at 7:30am to be sure I’m awake.

And I do this ALL… just so I can have Rocker Yogi for a second day each week. One day was just not enough for my lust quotient. He is SOOOOO yummy! I can’t take it. And all of his music is 70’s classic rock like The Beatles (in their trippy stage), The Stones, and Elton John. I’m literally doing yoga in a Cameron Crowe movie hoping Rocker Yogi will have his “coming of age” with me.

On a sort of tangentalizing note, but not quite, I was watching Parenthood 2 weeks ago when the Grandfather was teaching his grandson what to say to the girl he liked, to show her that he liked her. The first thing he taught him was that he should compliment something she’s wearing.

So, the next day I’m in Rocker Yogi’s class waiting on my mat for his arrival, and as he walks by me, he says, “I like your headband.” It was a headband/scarf, and it was lightly sequined so it sparkled in a hippy-chick kind of way…

Anyway, I took the liberty of reading into that as ‘he complimented something I wore’ perhaps the fish is taking the bait. Then I came to my senses.

So today, not only did I take his class at 7:30am, BUT he worked out afterwards as did I with Mrs. Rockbody, who for the purpose of this entry will be referred to as Momma Bear, because while she agreed that he is cute, anytime my comments got too lascivious she immediately reminded me that he is just a kid… which when I read between the lines read ‘a kid who’s about the same age as my son’.. ooops.

You see, up until now, all of my girlfriends who have sons don’t have any over the age of 5, so this hasn’t been an issue. Momma Bear made it very real for me that these young guys of “days before FWB” had moms. Man! I never thought about the moms. Great Momma Bear, you’ve just put a huge damper on my fantasy life.

Okay, she didn’t really, because you should have seen him do tricep kickbacks and chest presses. He’s delish! AND he has these tattoos on his back that peek out from either end of his tank top and I just want to rip the damn top off of him so I can see the full picture… well, seeing it would be great what I really want to do is glide my fingertips over his baby smooth skin!

Yes, lust is one of the seven original sins, and Kenny Chesney got it right when he sang, “It’s always your favorite sins, that do you in…”

But seriously! I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs, I don’t eat sugar aka cupcakes and brownies, I don’t have anything with caffeine aka chocolate, hot chocolate, chocolate cake, Hershey’s kisses, Twix bars, Special Dark, dark chocolate covered blueberries, dark chocolate covered anything.. ARE YOU GETTING MY POINT?!?!? I’m deprived!!!! Aren’t I allowed one vice? That vice being sex with guys who are 10- 15 years younger than me? It’s not like I’m forcing myself on anyone. All of my past younger men have been eager participants… EAGER. So what’s the problem? And why do I know when I go to bed tonight and attempt to fall asleep to lustful thoughts of Rocker Yogi, Momma Bear’s disapproving face is going to pop into my mind and kill it before it even begins?

I think the first line in the book “The Road Less Traveled” says it all…

Who ever said that life was supposed to be fair?



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