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...

New Prescription: Red Lipstick & BJs

Mermaid, Tango and I go on a road trip to Ojai. We drive along the Pacific Coastal Highway in his red Mercedes convertible. It’s a balmy day and the top is down, so I hop in the backseat and feel like a six-year old on her way to Disneyland. Mermaid rides shotgun; her curly tresses are in a loose bun complete with bandana and sunhat. She is chic—and smart. What have I already (re)learned? Long hair whipping about like a hurricane for 3 hours equals half an hour of untangling and a serious loss of knotty locks. This is in direct opposition to the main purpose of our road trip: a follow up visit with the Bosnian...

And Then There Was One ... As in: Me, As in: Single, Single Here! (As in: Sad sigh.)

After taking a FaceBreak for a month, I go back on social media hub central. As I’m not so inclined to browse through a month’s worth of newsfeed for ‘my closest 400+ best friends,’ I simply jump back in mid-stream.Interestingly, it is true that no one does miss you (me) when you (I) leave the FB party. The real—not virtual—friends and I have stayed in contact outside of social media. Two of my closest friends aren’t even on FB.Nonetheless, coming clean, I am self-publishing a memoir in the coming months, and the book marketing course I took last summer was all “social media, social media!” There are other ways to procure purchases, but they’re slower going and a lot more...

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...

Bush Waxing: Tips to Get Through Your Fanny’s Forest

August. “Bush, bare or landing strip?” It seems like the most appropriate introductory question to ask a patio of a dozen men and women in their late 30s and 40s, most of whom I’ve just met. I’m at a friend of a friend’s house gathering and am preparing to go to an outdoor music event. They seem like open-minded (read: alcohol-consuming) folk, plus they’re friends of my friend, who is most certainly open-minded so that must say something. “Bush, bare or landing strip? I just Mach 3 razored my entire bush off, and I’m worried I’ll be walking funny later. Tips and reducing itch?” We go around the patio sharing our salon styling secrets and...

Alberta Beef Makes Me Horny

July. After a blow out with my family over (my) shit that needed to be dealt with (long time coming, will skip details but write sappy, dark, wrist-slashing prose later), I run away to recover a.k.a. calm my raging temper. Said temper, by the way, sends cortisol through my system leading to belly fat which makes me even more maddened. Frick. So, I run away to Quadra Island, BC, which is a 10-minute ferry ride from where I’m ‘staying’ with my LMLotFM (Little Mexican Lady on the Floor Mom) since I sold all my possessions and ran away to California last year after having a 7-year midlife crisis after my divorce, which lead to a secret life in Seattle and,...

A Gamut of Guys—Gama Rays of Rejection OR Why Rejection is Good for You (Me)!

July. I met a great guy recently in my Small Town, who I hung out with for awhile, enjoyed the company of, laughed endlessly with, went on hikes with (well, one hike), had coffee with (thrice), and looked at real estate with (I’m no longer a licenced salesperson, therefore, don’t have a lockbox key, therefore, they are drive by sightings—not B&Es). He is a man who has his shit together and is intelligent and interesting and—yes, I’ll admit—has lovely, soulful eyes and who, after a weekend jaunt out of town (him not me), never contacts me again! WTH? Perhaps he found some fine filly more his wave. To be sure, I know he isn’t for me...

Poked and Prodded - Physically, Metaphysically

March. Poked and Prodded Part 1: Physically Me: “So I’ll just take my shirt off?” Him: “Leave your bra on.” Me: “It’s a workout top.” Him: “Put the straps under your arms.” Me: “Okay … but not the sweat pants, right?” Him: “Yes, take those off, too.” Me, avoiding eye contact: “But I haven’t shaved my, my, well—anything, in 4 months.” He shrugs, “Me neither.” Cut to next scene—I’m lying on the therapeutic bed in the dim light under a whisper thin sheet hoping that, when he returns, he won’t see the salad poking out from under my lacy panties. (If you’re going to wear sweats, ladies, wear some decent underwear; do this for you.) I’m wondering if the...

How to Stay Single and Save the Planet: Don’t Shave Your Bits

March. Nary a hair (make that hairs) hath hastened my journey to self-accepted (and decidedly steadfast) singledom than these unsightly sprouts springing forth on my wild and wintered legs. Was it the holistic hippy retreat, the brisk Canadian cold (first official day of spring and it’s snowing) or the “I’ll never move back to (small home town) and I’ll never live with my mother or I’ll never find a man—oh, my God—I’m in (small home town) living with my mother!” realization that left me despondently disinterested in grooming these gams (and other parts)? I was so excited to get home. Home. To my friends and family and country (sort of) and ... well, friends and family. What the hell...

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