Hair, Scrabble & Men …

Clearly my life is sucking a bit at the moment as I’m actually writing another blog where I am mentioning hair. But I’m doing it as a public service announcement to all women who curl their hair.

So, take this as a warning. Don’t ever, ever, ever buy that hair curling thing that sucks your hair up into an automatic curl chamber and is supposed to magically produce a perfect curl.  My hairdresser told me about it and so of course, I immediately go out and spend $100 bucks to buy one.  I was so excited and had visions of beautiful curly hair (not my usual sucky, humidity laden curly hair).

Anyway, the first couple of curls at the front of my head – perfect. Then, to my horror, the curling thing sucked up my hair and wouldn’t release it.  I had the presence of mind to unplug it, but couldn’t get my hair to uncurl from the chamber!   After three minutes of complete panic, I got it untangled, mostly because I basically ripped it out and tore half of the hair out.  I am completely traumatized about this.  I nearly wrecked my hair using this stupid thing.  I realize that I’m not the most coordinated person in the world, and put the mishap down to that, however, nothing like this has ever happened to me with a regular curling iron or hot rollers.  This curling iron requires a level of manual dexterity that I obviously don’t possess.

I immediately returned it, and I’d like to thank Sally’s for bring super nice about the return, and not even asking me why I was returning it. That is what I call good customer service.

Moving on.. I had a party on Friday night for one of my clients.   Best office party yet!  For a small group that I didn’t think drank that much, they wiped out a case of wine and a huge amount of beer and rum.  I found a napkin in the morning solving an algebraic equation of some sort – they are such nerds.  The night ended with four of us, at 2:00  am playing a game of incoherent scrabble (which I won due to my creativity and skills in defending non-words to drunk men):

Scrabble at 2am

The man situation is now non-existent. I have tossed the married man.  He was getting way, way too attached to me and making trips to see me from Toronto.  I could see that this was going to end badly, and I like the guy enough that I put a stop to the whole thing before the shit hit the fan (for him, not me).  Not to mention that his sex skills could really be improved – Mata Hari has already told me that I should consider that a deal breaker, and KMS pointed out a few weeks back (and rightly so) that I wasn’t having a lot of sex with him because I couldn’t be bothered to have mediocre sex.  They both know me so well : )

I really need to get some excitement into my life as I’m actually boring the shit out of myself writing about mundane crap like hair, scrabble and dull breakups. Imagine what it must be like to be me and living this – I can only hope this is just a temporary dry spell deemed necessary for me to rest up for bigger and better things, hopefully sooner rather than later.

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Replacing men with guns (and having way, way more fun..)

Men:  Constant bullshit, ego-soothing and mostly mediocre sex..

Guns:  Constant fun, only need to worry about my own ego, and mediocre shooting is a challenge to be overcome, not something to be tossed from my life.

Go big or go home is my motto, so in keeping with that philosophy, I am now National Firearms Association holster certified : )

I cannot even explain how excited I am about this!!!  I blew off work and took a one-day holster certification course on Tuesday.  And, I have to say, it was completely amazing, intense and one of the most nerve wracking experiences I’ve ever had once we got out on the firing range and put things into practise.

I think anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that I am a pretty confident woman who isn’t easily intimidated by things.  But holy crap, once that loaded gun was nestled in my holster, I was hyper-aware that the possibility of shooting myself in the leg or foot was pretty real.  Like shoot a hole in your foot kind of real.

That, not to mention the fact that I’ve never actually de-cocked a gun before.  Which, for some reason, scared the living shit out of me, and I had to do it with the gun I was using (a CZ SP-01 Shadow). It involves pulling the trigger gently while moving the hammer up.  Then the gun goes into the holster, ready to fire.  So, sounds simple, and yes it is, but all I could think was “I’m going to mistakenly fire this gun if I don’t move that hammer properly”.  Which would be considered a “negligent discharge”.  Which has been drilled into my head that is a very, very bad thing.

I just couldn’t wrap my mind around how this could possibly be even a remotely safe thing to do (even with the gun pointed down-range).  And yes, I did get it, and it didn’t even take me that long to get it. I chalk all of that anxiety over this up to me being a girl and over-analyzing everything, as none of the men on the course seemed to have one iota of an issue with it (and the only other woman had a SA so didn’t have to worry about it).

Anyway, once I got it, and we started shooting and doing drills, and I passed the test, all I could think was “this really is the most fun you can have with your clothes on”.

I guess I’m pretty hard-core now – my Friday night will be spent at the range shooting guns.  I hardly recognize myself : )

shooting v2

Apparently I have an aggressive vagina…

Yes, a man I actually  like told me that a couple of weeks ago (I think I will just call him Mr. Hot). It would appear that he either a) hasn’t had sex with a woman who actually does kegel exercises; or b) he sleeps with women who fake orgasms.

This guy is pretty hot. Mata Hari 100% approves of him, and made sure I spent lots of time with him doing meetings that she would normally have done. But she is a good friend and did me a solid by sending me along instead. Which resulted in me being able to do some major flirting which resulted in a dinner invitation.

This guy is the complete opposite of Mr. Stole the Book from the hotel room in Mexico guy. Mr. Hot is tall, handsome, educated, good job, classy, polite. You name it, he is the opposite. He is charming and witty. And as an aside, completely unlike tortured, crazy, Ashely Madison man.

So, we’ve had seven dates in the past month. He is not lacking in the man department at all  (I was amazed when I saw him naked).  It’s pretty clear to me though, that he actually hasn’t had sex with someone like me before. I suppose being married 30 years to someone who (according to him) never had an orgasm would pretty much suck.

Anyway, to put this delicately (see, I do like him as I’m not skewering him here) apparently my tight vagina is a bit much if you are a man who isn’t 100% hard. Again, being delicate, apparently it tends to push a not 100% hard man out of me.

I actually didn’t know this was a thing. But it is. I guess men my age (which I prefer over the younger ones for some reason) sometimes have issues with hardness.

So, not to belabour the point. I told him if I was a guy I’d be chewing Viagra like candy and it was ridiculous that he should even feel awkward about anything to do with sex. I mean, it’s me. I’m the most chill person in the world when it comes to sex. If I don’t have an orgasm, I feel no need to apologize or blame it on myself. And if he doesn’t have an orgasm, I don’t take it personally at all. But again, I guess most women aren’t like this.

But Mr. Hot (being a perfectionist, I guess) couldn’t relax about this so I had to explain a couple of things to him.

  1. Tight vaginas are better than sloppy ones. Yes, I can grab on better than most, but it’s a good thing and just take the damn Viagra and get over yourself; and
  2. Some women feel the need to fake orgasms, I will never do that, and what you are experiencing is a woman having an orgasm. Not an aggressive vagina.   But an orgasmic vagina.

I’m not actually sure what he thinks about all of this. I think he’s intimidated. Mata Hari thinks he just doesn’t know what to think.

I agree with her.

Am I a genetic defect or the new normal for single, middle aged women???

Not to mean I have a shitty life or that I’m complaining.  Because I’m definitely not.  I have a sweet thing going on right now.  I mean really, really sweet.  It’s taken a long, long time, with massive amounts of bullshit involved getting here, but I like my life.  A lot.  And it feels good to be able to say that.

I live by myself in a nice place in a good part of town with my trusty dog who worships the ground I walk on.  I support myself, don’t have to depend on anyone for cash and don’t have to explain what I do or why I’m doing it to a single soul.  And don’t even get me started about the booty call aspect of this.

How lucky am I to be living in an era where no one could be bothered to cast aspersions on a woman my age who has, as my mother calls it, “men friends”.  (Although it’s possible my mother thinks that booty calls aren’t involved when having a man friend, but she doesn’t ask, most likely doesn’t have a clue what a booty call is, and I don’t mention).  Anyway, my point being, I get to have as much sex as I want with whomever strikes my fancy.  I cannot even explain how completely amazing this is for me.

I spent way, way too many years with various men of all kinds and after three long term, failed relationships, and too many to count short, ill-fated faux relationships, I have come to the following conclusions:

  1. What first attracts a man to you is what ultimately totally pisses them off about you. i.e. my chippy, speak my mind, potty mouthed, take no prisoners self.
  2. Men say they want independent, sexy women, but they actually don’t. The want sexy women they can control.
  3. Men think they like a woman who thinks about sex like a man. i.e. Have a fun, no strings attached night and you take it for what it is. They don’t. When confronted with a woman who actually doesn’t care if they call or not, they have an overwhelming desire to call. And text. And call some more. Or show up at your house unannounced.
  4. It takes a short amount of time for the initial sexual thrill to wear off, and then you’re invariably faced with a man who bores the snot out of you in and out of bed.

As a result, I am so, so happy that in this brave new world, I just get to have lovers who fulfill whatever it is I want fulfilled at the moment and they leave in the morning, understanding fully that I am not in any way, shape or form wanting to be their girlfriend, and that I just want to hang out and have some fun.  Not to mention that if I don’t call you anymore, it’s not because I don’t like you, it’s because I have the attention span of flea now where men are concerned.

I do understand that this way of thinking makes me an anathema to those who believe in happily ever after and love forever.  Luckily for me, I don’t give a shit : )

Cuba and the hot Italian hippie who wears Prada….

Well, that’s the least boring trip I’ve ever taken.  In my life.  25% shit show; 25% party; 50% wildly entertaining beyond all expectations.

So, never did see my kid.  She was too busy to come to Toronto to see me.  Apparently Toronto is as hard to get to as Cuba.  And apparently if I were a good  mother I would have hoofed it to Waterloo.  Not.  Instead, I parked myself at the hotel bar, where a fishing convention was being held.  I cannot even begin to explain the strange and f*cked up people I met there.  I will make a long story short:  Drunk girl looking for reassurance that her insipid and controlling boyfriend (who was so beneath her it was unreal) was someone she should be with, whacked out individual doing lines of coke and rolling joints at the bar; correctional officers attending the fishing show who recognized the guy but ignored him, correctional officer hitting on me who thought he was so suave and sophisticated I nearly choked on my drink; the fishing show TV star with the big belly who thought he was the shit.  I could go on and on but I won’t.  I arrived at the airport the next morning with a vague hangover – those fishing people are party animals.

My friend, who I will call Mata Hari, took my kid’s place on the trip.  In hindsight, good move on my kid’s part to bail and leave that space open 🙂  We have very similar traits where it comes to men and alcohol consumption so it couldn’t have been a better match.  I’d go anywhere with that girl – she is the perfect travel companion. This blog will cover the first couple of days of my trip.  It started out rather epically.

Arrive around midnight, get total shit room, sleep in clothes as can’t be certain the sheets are clean, and am completely pissed off and wondering if this is a harbinger of things to come.

Morning One: Wake up early, go to front desk, complain and get upgraded to nicer, cleaner ocean view room right by swim up bar pool.

Morning/Afternoon One:  Being Ms. Social Butterfly, I meet bunch of people from Toronto at the pool.  We are all drunk and partying our asses off by 2:00 pm.  Enter the smoking hot, yet humble, amazingly tanned Italian man with shoulder length black hair with a touch of grey.  God, I nearly died.  He knew the crew I was with.  Lucky me : )

Evening One/Morning Two:  Have awesome buzz on.  Hot Italian hippie (HIH) comes back to my room, I get changed and we go out on the town.  Am a bit blurry on the details.  We ended up back at his awesome fancy place.  I fall asleep on him and apparently I snore.  Who knew lol.  Then I woke up.  And there was no snoring going on then.  Then we woke up again.  Still no snoring.  Then breakfast on the balcony in the hot, sunny, un-Halifax like weather.  So romantic and fun.  I decided right then and there that I really like HIH.

Afternoon/Evening Two:  HIH is scheduled to leave the resort at 3:00 pm.  We hang by the pool, have a few drinks and commiserate that we just met as he is leaving.  But, I am a pragmatic woman, and know a holiday hook up is just that.  Got a final photo of myself with HIH a proof it really happened.

Hung out with new friends and it was such a shit show of fun!  More fun was to come:  Who shows up at around 5?  HIH!!  His flight was delayed.  I’m so flattered he decided to cab it back from the airport (about an hour’s drive) to see me.  It was so awesome – Mata Hari said we ran into each other’s arms and everyone at the pool was thinking “Oh look at how cute those two are”.  I really didn’t think it was possible for two fifty something year olds to be “cute” but apparently I’m wrong..  So, time for a little reunion and off he goes again.

After all that excitement, I needed an early night so was back in the room by nine.  I was just going to bed and someone knocked on the door.  I’m like “WTF??”  Well, it was the HIH!!  Flight delayed again!  I got dressed and out we went to party and dance at the disco.  And let me tell you, that man can dance like no man I’ve ever seen before in my entire life.  I can’t even describe or explain it.  It was unbelievable.  Picture a Harlequin Romance novel cover with the handsome hero and the long flowing hair and hot, chiselled, tanned body; add some incredible, yet non-tacky, dance moves; and you’ve got the picture.

Yes, he did eventually have to leave for good.

Evening Seven:  Fast forward to me leaving Cuba and arriving in Toronto.

Who is waiting for me but the HIH, wearing Prada jeans and looking so sexy I nearly knocked him over and did bad things to him right there in the airport!!  He looked like a god.  I swear.  He is the sexiest man I’ve ever met in my life.  Anyway, he had a hotel room booked for us. How seriously awesome and nice is that? He even had a bottle of wine waiting for me. We finally had a chance to talk and he is really a sweet guy. And weird. But in a good way.

We’ve talked every night since I got back – a whole entire  five days. He becomes weirder yet more appealing to me the more I talk to him.  Not to mention I could stare at him naked for hours…

This is a strange thing, I realize that. As I am neither rich nor outrageously gorgeous, I can only assume my witty personality has captivated him.  That plus he is weird and I like that and most other women probably couldn’t appreciate it.

So, in honour of all this weirdness, I’m going to Cuba again on March 21st.  It’s all booked.  Meeting HIH who wears Prada there.  A crazy ass move even by my standards.  But, when I think to myself – will I actually regret doing this when I’m on my death bed taking my last breath – I highly doubt it….

YOLO.

Jujubes and Red Wine – a perfect dinner…

That’s what I love about being a grown up.  I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want, and no one says anything whatsoever to me about it.

I am completely out of sorts and I just knew, deep down in my soul, that red wine and jujubes would fix that.  And it kind of did. I would like to personally thank whomever it is that bottles McManis – this is the first time I’ve tried their Petite Sirah 2011 and I really like it and it has improved my mood dramatically.  I would also like to thank the people who put the candy in the bulk bins at the grocery store, as I was able to sift out all of the green ones so had a nice bag of all the ones I like.  (It’s a long story but I would actually probably throw up if I ate a green jujube).

I feel like a psycho bitch on wheels.  How is possible that I am still completely at the mercy of my hormones at my age.  Shouldn’t I be in menopause right now?  WTF is it that I am STILL having periods at my age for god sake.  Everything is making me grouchy.  Plus, it’s nothing but rain and fog and disgusting humidity lately, and the summer is going by too fast and I’m accomplishing sweet fuck all.  Maybe that’s a bit harsh, but I seriously could have accomplished way more by this point in August if I did less laying around reading and drinking wine in the hammock and more of whatever it is really go-getter people do.

Not to mention I keep going out with unsuitable men and wasting my time on them. It’s like I can’t resist doing this.  My dermatologist’s wife told me last week that I need an older (read “old”) man who will appreciate me.  She is convinced if I go up to 60-65, I will find a man who will adore me, plus be able to keep me in the style I am convinced I should be accustomed to.  Maybe she is right.  I need to think on this a bit more, as the thought of doing it with a 65 year old has the same affect on me as eating green jujubes.  Not that I have had that experience, but the visual is not good.  Maybe it’s just because I haven’t met a fit one yet.

Plus, I think I have another mouse under my fridge.  And I broke up with the guy who pulled the fridge out and disposed of all of the mouse shit and the dead mouse under there the last time this happened, so I have no idea what to do here.  I can’t pull the stupid fridge out as it’s too big and heavy, and even if I did I would literally puke my guts out if there is another dead mouse there.  So, I’ve initiated email contact with the ex and hopefully if I buy him a drink or something he’ll do me a solid and fix this situation.  I suppose if worse comes to worse I can call an exterminator.  Maybe they can also get rid of the fruit flies and ants that seem to like my house this summer.

And finally, yes, I am still doing some work.  Fortunately being self employed leaves me a lot of latitude to be a lazy bitch when I want.  As long as I put nose to the grindstone and meet deadlines when I need to it’s all good.  Leaves lots of time for hammock laying and wine drinking and book reading : )

What I ate for supper

Yes, I should be working but wine was more compelling…

Just for the record, I did lots of work today as follows:

  1. Went to the bank and talked to a teller about something I couldn’t do with a machine or online  (I never do this, now I see why – she actually asked me what the balance on my mortgage was, which has sfa to do with what I was in there for – nosey bitch);
  2. Went to Sephora and bought a magnifying mirror as it seems when you are as old as I am a regular mirror no longer works.  Sadly, it didn’t come with the four batteries it needs to actually light up (I couldn’t read the fine print on the box so didn’t realize batteries were not included – I really, really hate getting old).  Anyway, while I was there I also bought some “hydrating serum” – it was expensive so I will use it and if I don’t look more hydrated and less haggard in two or three days, they are getting it back.
  3. Went to MAC and bought two “whirl” lip pencils.  I need one for my purse and one for my bathroom.  I have been inconvenienced enough trying to cheap out and only have one pencil going at a time – my purse is downstairs and my bathroom is upstairs and it just peeves me off totally every morning that I don’t have one in my bathroom.
  4.  I wandered around the Michael Kors store and laughed my ass off (inside of course) at the pretentious, and slightly stupid young women working in the store who tried to engage me in conversation about the merits of the various highly over-priced bags they saw me looking at.
  5. I did some actual real work as well.  But it’s kind of boring to write about, and no one really cares.  But on the upside, I am very busy these days, so that is a good thing.

So, got screwed around with one of the companies I am doing work for.  I am not a happy camper.  This is the conversation (keep in mind, they asked me to come in and do the work on an urgent basis and no conversation about not being paid ever occurred until I was submitting an invoice):

Boss:  (Comes into my office, sits down, and cozies up to the desk).  So, how were you thinking  you’d like to be paid for this?

Me:  Cheque is fine.

Boss:  Well, you know we don’t really have any money to pay you, maybe you could just add it all up and we can talk at the end of the month – maybe give you some shares.

Me:  Well, I don’t really have a lot of money, and I would like to be paid.

Boss:  You know the situation, we really appreciate that you’ve done this, but we’re conserving cash and you know how it is.  We’ll sort it out.  Anyway, you have lots of money don’t you?

FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!!  I’M SELF EMPLOYED – IT’S KIND OF A HAND TO  MOUTH THING FOR THE MOST PART.

I told my friend about this and he advised me to get triple the amount of paper in the company if that’s how they want to play it.  I’m severely pissed off about this as I’m sure you can tell.  And just what I need, more worthless stock in my portfolio of mostly worthless stocks.

So, enough of the job drama.  That’s the only one that’s got me irritated, everyone else I do work for is appreciative and actually cough up a cheque once a month.

Now to the relationship drama.  No, I have not broken off with him.  Yes, I am going to meet his family next weekend.  For one night only.  Then I’m driving back to the city for a party on Saturday night which I will be attending on my own.  Really, I have no idea what I am doing.  I’ve read that you can lose your mind when you are approaching menopause, so maybe that’s what’s going down here.

All I know is that he is just sweet and he actually came over on Sunday and helped me nurse my hangover from the girl party I had the night before (without him) and he fed me and took care of me.  That’s the kind of guy you want when you get old and feeble – one who will take care of you.  I discussed this with my mother, and she told me when you are old (she’s 76) it’s really nice to have someone around who has your back and will take care of you.  I get that.  But, that’s a long time from now, and how you get from how I’m feeling now, to there, is a complete mystery to me.

Now that I’ve vented and drank a glass of wine I’m feeling much better.