If I could Match.Com me a perfect doesn’t-have-to-talk companion his name would be Sven and he would be a 6’4” Swedish masseuse. Instead I’m following a tiny Russian woman to a suspect back room to get mostly naked and shell out the equivalent of a Tiny House Nation mortgage for a professional rubdown. I hope. … More Russian Rubdown
I read Bukowski today, a poem for swingers, bookmarked and coffee-stained, living words I once knew by heart. I read Bukowski today, slid him off a dusty shelf and trailed my fingertips along his side, spine cracked and stiffened, a lover neglected. I read Bukowski today just after sunrise, with gritty eyes … More Finding Bukowski
I’ve always had a problem with emotionally unavailable men and this one certainly was icy. He swept in all hushed and magical, descending with fluttering wet kisses on my cheeks and eyelashes. I’d been warned about him. My friend Jim Cantore warned me. But who thinks with a name like Jonas there will really be … More Dumped by Jonas: I Get By
The first Christmas I spent in my home I was a wee overly excited to have my own entry doors to decorate. This seasonal eagerness may have totally precipitated a gotta handle it yourself Single Girl Situation. You see, in Life Before Mortgage I lived in a second floor apartment with multiple doors to … More One Flew Outta the Cuckoo’s Wreath
THE LONG ROAD TO EMBRACING THE PLUS NONE There I was just this past June on the dance floor, swaying in a slow circle with my favorite partner—an icy long neck bottle that was growing warmer under my clutch. My beer lets me lead and there’s no danger of it crushing the toes that … More Slow Dancing With My Beer
“There’s something to be said for letting it simmer. An instant grit is a bad thing.” Author Unknown This, apparently, is a lesson I have yet to learn as evidenced by my latest brief foray into dating. Pretty sure it’s related to more than my ineptitude in the kitchen (did you know baking soda and … More Rogue Tuba: A Brief Interlude
A friend of mine leaned in to inspect my hair the other day to exclaim “Wow, there’s some really blonde ones in there!” I am not a blonde. By blonde she meant gray. I am officially a 35-year-old single woman who often finds herself sleeping on the diagonal in a big king bed. After my birthday I … More Sleeping on the Diagonal: A New Box
Sleeping on the Diagonal 