My Purpose: Entertain, Inspire, Be Happy, Free Hugs!
 

Flirting & Master Dater ShenANNAgins

How To Meet Single Men In Vancouver.. Or Not. A girl friend and I are strolling by a hole-in-the-brick-wall mysterious venue in Gastown when a tall, not unhandsome guy in retro military gear asks us, "Are you into fetish parties?" An army green 1940s BMW cafe racer with matching camo sidecar is parked beside this scene with an antique ambulance behind it. A blockbuster-movie-sized photo light is aimed at the MASH ensemble. (I find out later Camo Guy owns the props in this mini movie set.) I scan the crowd loitering in the drizzling mist outside of the nameless lounge and see similarly attired patrons, several in skin-exposing camo, military boots and brush cuts. The men are just as interesting....

And Then I Moved To Vancouver. I Think.

Episode One: The Silver FoxI flew over on Harbour Air. The water-landing five-seater delivered me from the harbour of my adulthood hometown to the harbour of downtown Vancouver. Forty minutes and 25 pounds of luggage, and I'm in the "big city."The intention was to stay at a girl friend's place while she is away to see if I like the city. Her place is near the Seawall—a pedestrian/bicycle path that meanders along the oceanfront and around Stanley Park—and within a few blocks of the hub of downtown Vancouver. Like!By the end of the first day, when asked where I live, I say, "I'm from Comox, but I'm thinking of moving here." By the end of the second day, it becomes...

The Turkish (d)Rug Dealer.

Boracay Beach, Philippines Blog Seven. I'm walking along the Strip one day, and a man just sort of appears beside me. It happens so naturally that I'm not caught off-guard, and the next thing you know we've walked several beach blocks together. He tells me he's a rug dealer but, with his accent, it sounds like drug dealer. (Later, when I get to know him more, I'm not sure I actually heard him wrong.) He's touchy feely and has rug- (thug-?) beating meaty hands that constantly graze my shoulder, hip, and hair, and make me adjust my I(heart)BoracayPhilipinnes satchel to a more secure placement. But he laughs a lot and is charming. And alarming. I followed you, he...

Mexico: Week One aka Weak One (Me)

Checklist: Make sure airplane leaves L.A. right on time—if right on time means Mexican time, which it does, then depart 45 minutes late for no apparent reason. Check. Arrive in Puerto Vallarta airport to 30 degree temperatures (celcius, that equals 85 ish for you U.S.ers) plus humidity wearing jeans and 14 layers of sweaters because they wouldn't fit in the extra suitcase obtained free from a crack alley in Venice, CA. Check. Wait in an unorganized, wandering Customs & Immigration line-up for an hour while removing layers of clothing and worrying about mangy Mexican narcotics dogs detecting drugs in the lining of my crack-alley suitcase. Check. Develop stinky stress- and sweater-induced BO. Check check. Remind self to inquire...

The Art of Flirting

August. Getting ready for the music event (details later), my girlfriend and I discuss the art of flirting. Friend: “You’re so good at it, you have to show me what to do.” We’re both single. I reply, “It’s easy—make eye contact and laugh a lot.” Friend: “Okay, well, show me anyway.” She’s gorgeous and doesn’t even have to follow the two-step protocol I’ve just given her. She just needs to show up, but somehow she can’t see it. I say, “You need to learn to love yourself! Look at you. I love me. I think I’m amazing! In a non-narcissistic way, of course. And you’re way hotter...

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