My knuckles are still white and now my eyes have that thing where they think stationary objects are moving.
You know that thing that happens when you’ve been staring at a moving item (in my case the road, or that text crawl at the bottom of a tv screen) for a looooong time and then you stop staring at it and then the stationary objects around you suddenly look like they’re moving?
Yeah. I’ve got that.
And white knuckles.
Holy Dirty Diapers!
I know y’all think I’m brave, but I scared myself. Actually, the crappy condition of the LA freeways scared me. The roads (the 405, parts of the 101, and parts of the 5) were SO BAD I thought I had flat tires. Plural. Seriously. But, wait! There’s more…
It was touch and go for a while there. But two relatively minor sewer problems later, and one emergency trip to the vet, and I am officially on my way to San Diego.
Holy Crap, y’all. What was I thinking taking my (not so) skinny butt on the road in a big RV?
With a cat that hates to be in moving vehicles?
I’m sure this is just my usual panic-mode of coping with new situations, combined with the “RV newbie” fear. Right? (say ‘yes’) This will probably all be old hat after this first test run is over and I get back to northern California in about two and a half weeks.
Driving from northern California to BlogHer in southern California is actually a perfect opportunity for a test run. I’m sure I’ve packed way too much stuff, and in some cases not nearly enough (Food? Who needs food?).
But I have an outfit for most every occasion and that’s what’s important. Yes, and shoes. I plan to be at BlogHer in time for the Thursday night party in one of the aforementioned outfits. This RV? She’s got closet.
My motto is: There’s no sense in traveling if you can’t bring your cutest clothes.
For the better, I hope. But I can’t make any promises.
I’m almost officially a gypsy. If all goes as planned by this time next week I’ll have no “permanent home”, and few possessions. Before you start to feel sorry for me, know that I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.
Uhh, what did you just say?? You’ve been looking forward to this?
Remember, I’m here because I’m not all there.
I didn't know you could get them gilded! Next time I'm ordering mine gilded.
For almost two years now I’ve fantasized about getting a motorhome, traveling the country like a gypsy while writing about my adventures. Granted, I often don’t know the difference between a fantasy and a plan. But is there really a difference? Must they be mutually exclusive?
And my dream is about to begin. I bought an RV, and will take possession of it in about a week. I can’t wait! I’m excited, and really hope I can pull this off. But, wait! There’s more…
Guess what I learned recently? A study found the brain views money as a drug. They found it lessens social distress and physical pain.
No shit? Well, color me addicted.
They also suspect it is a substitute for romance.
Huh.
Coincidentally, I’ve just found my new boyfriend!
This is a picture of my bank account after I win the lottery. No, wait. It's a picture of my new boyfriend. No, that's not it either. It's a picture of BOTH!
If you’ve ever thought of money as a drug, you may be more right than you know. New research shows that counting money — just handling the bills — can make things less painful.
After spending a couple hours getting to know each other, I was ready.
Really ready.
I’ve waited a long time for this moment.
Too long.
Taking my time, I slowly warmed her up. Pushing all the right buttons, her fine motor began purring beneath me. I wrapped my hands around her, slowly stroking her, discovering the feel of her, getting to know her better.
She had unexpected strength and power, but she gave over full control to me, completely trusting me. Not one to hold back, she gave me as much as I wanted, as much as I could take.
I wanted all of her, and I was ready to take her to the next level.
You are under no obligation to read further, but your assistance with the question at the end is greatly appreciated.)
This is terrible.
Just terrible.
I’m becoming jaded. Jaded by the lack-luster, creepy, freaky, sex-starved oddballs who contact me on Match. Very few bother to read my profile. Very. few.
Where people look. (Totally borrowed from a site that also borrowed it. Unfortunately, I don't know the origin.)
How Not To Match.com
First off, just don’t join. When I started this it was to honestly find someone to date, and with whom to hopefully form a nice, long-term relationship. Now I’m fighting becoming jaded. And I’m not sure I’m succeeding.
While it takes a LOT of weeding through garbage to find the nice guys in the mix, it seems hardly worth it when you have to contend with the buggy, glitchy software, and the crappy Match.com interface.
It automatically sends “winks” as if they’re from me! To people at whom I would not choose to wink.
Match selects a “Daily 5” and also emails another set of so-called matches, supposedly based on your preferences. Not. The only thing these “matches” have in common with my preferences was the fact they were male. Many are not even in my desired area. But, wait! There’s more…
If this is your first time here, Welcome! And also I’m Sorry.
This is post number three in the saga of my online dating experience. You can start crying for me anytime. Read these to get caught up: First, I joined Match.com , and second, Adventures In Dating Part 1.
No, you're not a stalker, you're just lonely and looking for an instant girlfriend.
How do you all like my new Match.com slogan? “The Odds Are Good That The Goods Are Odd”
And boy are they odd.
Biker Boy is a Jekyll and Hyde. He’s either all clingy with me, sending me tons of emails and calling me several times the same day, whining I’m dating others while we get to know each other, or completely selfish, controlling, and downright rude. After turning down his last minute request for dinner the morning of Valentine’s Day, he proceeded to email me several times and call me twice that evening. The evening I said I was going to be out.
As if this wasn’t enough, the next morning when I check email for the first time since the day before, I find several emails from him, and this one: ‘Wassup? You pissed? insulted? Done? Or none of the above? How are you today?’ All because I didn’t respond while I was out???
In my reply I asked if he’d forgotten I had plans (did he not remember I turned down his date that very morning??). I explained being out with a friend means I don’t answer the phone – unless it’s important. My mother taught me it’s impolite to your guest/present company. But, wait! There’s more…
My life has been nothing if not full of adventures.
The dating segment of my life accounts for much of that.
Remember that guy you all said I should go ahead and contact first? Most of you already know I did, and he wrote back. The funny thing is it turns out we have a few friends in common. He’s only lived in California six months so I just haven’t run into him yet. So I probably didn’t need to spend $60 on Match.com to meet him. *sigh*
He’s a year older, divorced, and he’s gainfully employed (whew, one of us should be). Of course, he has one of the aforementioned Harleys. A really nice one. I’ll admit, I have a fondness for Harleys. It’s hard not to notice a nice one, and to know a hot man wields all that power between his legs.
*time passes*
Oh, hello. What are you doing here? Right! I was talking about my dates.
Gees, I’m such a bike slut. I really do like other things about him and would be interested even if he didn’t have a bike. I’m not THAT superficial.
Holy heart failure Batman! I joined an exercise Boot Camp.
The cat took me for a walk.
In case you don’t know, Boot Camps are a hardcore outdoor exercise program where they run you backwards up hills, and make you do backwards pushups and a ton of squats and other evil stuff. There’s also a strict diet plan that doesn’t include sweets. They’ve set me up to fail.
I don’t know why I signed up. Really. The only thing I can figure is I was under the influence of an overdose of cold/flu medicine at the time.
I believe being “under the influence of cold medicine” is grounds for temporary insanity. Not that I necessarily qualify for the “temporary” part.
This particular Booty Camp is ten weeks long, and it started this past weekend. (I’m calling it “Booty” camp because it’s all about getting my booty in shape.) Needless to say, my booty was bringing up the rear of the booty camp. Thank goodness I wasn’t the very last booty, like I was six months ago. This time there were about 200 people so my odds were better.
“Before” photos were required. Mine are really awful looking – which is why I joined the Booty Camp. If I do well, I may share the “after” photos. Maybe… but they might be awful, too. But, wait! There’s more…
