The Midget Lover


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Dating multiple men sounds scrumptious and sassy when I get to brag about it out loud. In theory, I feel like a powerful woman taking charge of her pleasure, snatching all that she desires from the man buffet.  I mean, this is the meat and potatoes of what Cindy Lu of The Four Man Plan preaches. From Lu’s perspective, the benefits of dating more then one man at a time are numerous, but the two that make most sense to me are these:

1) We women can be obsessive beings. To put it daintily, our brains are overworked hamsters on a golden wheel going round and round and round. Our ability to overanalyze the actions and inactions of men is pretty impressive. “Why hasn’t he called?” We could fill a library with the thoughts and wonders we have come up with trying to solve this question! Lu has discovered and shared that then when guy #2 and #3 are calling, it is not so bothersome that guy #1 hasn’t. Also, we women are full and complete beings, we want it all. And we want it all from our partner; the physical, the mental, the emotional and the spiritual.  Not too much to ask right? Lu is realistic in knowing that sometimes our full experience needs to be puzzle pieced together from multiple sources. Guy #1 is the brilliant conversation king. Guy #2 delivers the toe curling orgasm. Guy #3 will do yoga and meditate with you on the mountain top. Guy #4 will hold you during the chick flick. Viola! We get it all.

2) Men are innately competitive beings. Give them a task and they will be gratified in completing it. Give them a challenge, and they are made kings in conquering it. Lu believes that a woman should absolutely be honest with her dates and share that she is also seeing other men. This ignites a “let me play. I want to win” surge in men. Time to step up his game. (Or it distinguishes his flame and he disappears like a trail of smoke). Either way, you know what you are getting. Someone who is willing to stand up, put forth the effort and make time for you. Or someone who doesn’t really feel called to put in the work. Personally, I desire a man who lights my flame and is interested in building me a fire every time I see him because he wants me to keep warm.

Anyway, I promised midgets, so here goes. I finally went on a date with the guy I blew off to see The Climber for the second night in a row (and to have my medical meltdown). He was eager and excited to meet, and for some reason hell bent on going to Ye Olde Kings Head in Santa Monica. He was waiting at the bar and when he turned around I was instantly struck by how much he looked like a cross between my high school crush and Mario Lopez.  (Have I mentioned my weakness for a little latin or island color in a man?) He was very clean cut, very good looking, and very short. I was wearing boots, but the math calculations in my head told me he would still be shorter than flat footed Briana.

This detail was quickly forgotten because the fun and flirty conversation took hold and did not let up. I could tell he was excited and nervous because for the first hour, he talked a lot! We discovered that our birthdays were just two days apart. This is when I learned of the midgets. As a birthday party trick, and treat to himself, this man hired 12 midgets in costume to help celebrate his life. Oh yes. I saw pictures. I am still confused by my mixed feelings over this. But like my taste in humor, I found it sick, disturbing and awesome. What came through for me, was that this man is not afraid of absurdity or ruffling feathers. He goes after what he wants voraciously and bottom line, he is going to enjoy himself.  All haters be damned.

I suggest we walk up the street to the Misfit and he is game. I am craving a bit of class. We walk arm in arm down the block and I am reminded of his height, or lack there of. But again this detail gets masked by his charm, his gentlemanly ways and his belief in treating a woman to a “real date.” I cannot help but feel that I am queen. Doors opened, seats pulled out, every desire and whim accommodated. We sip our couture cocktails and our Capricorns came out to play. He is un-shy and straight forward. He tells me all about his son and shows me his gorgeous picture. Bewildered, because the dating red flag does not take flight. It doesn’t turn me off at all that he has a son. Hmmmm, curious. He swivels my velvety red bar stool towards him and kisses me. He wanted to get that out of the way and make sure that I know he doesn’t want to be just friends. Against my preconceived notions, I am having a splendid time.

We leave the Misfit and head for the Penthouse of the Shangri-La Hotel. Cute little elevator make-out session, but I am a bit relieved to find that it is closed at the top. He suggests darts, pool, a stroll. I am done for the evening. Getting ready for bed, he calls to make sure I got home okay. What a truly thoughtful, gorgeous man. He succeeded in making it a “real date.” He would love another date. He thinks I am a great kisser. He leaves a surprisingly good impression. Did I mention he was short?


Act Two


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The sweetie sweet, cutie pie man wanted to see me so much, that he canceled his plans for Saturday night too. He agreed to drive up to Venice and meet me at my doorstep at precisely 9:30pm (my estimated arrival time after working all day with the kid-ohs). My schedule is anything but the 9 to 5 variety. I had a very convincing excuse for a long time as to why I just couldn’t possibly date. My precious little fear got to explain that “It is so hard to date because I am not around when everyone else is.” Nice try sugar. What a heaping, steaming pile of BS. I am finding that the most delicious and deserving men don’t care what time they have to wait until……they will be there!

By now it is only Day 3 of the Receiving Project, but the goodies are rolling in. The little sprinklings of gifts of love and intimacy are about to become a pound cake to the face. So sweet and scrumptious, so ouchie and vexing. Up until this point, I have failed to mention, in addition to the excitement growing inside of me, I also had some alien spawn growing on the outside of me. At the beginning of the week, I awoke with a funny little rash on my right shin.   A tiny touch of cortisone cream, and I dismissed the trivial nuisance from my mind. Until the next morning, when I awake to a larger patch on my left calf. What the heck is this? Ok, let’s slather with Egyptian Magic. No worries. Wednesday……Thursday……then Friday, and I am not happy that I am ashamed of my burning hot, red legs and have to cover my sexy calves in yoga class. Those gorgeous things love to see the world! This is annoying! What the WHAT is going on?

I have to say that I am eternally grateful for fabulous friends! They so lovingly reflect back to us things that we need to, but don’t necessarily want to hear. When I lifted my pant leg on Saturday to Marisa and Marina, they didn’t even have to say it, their faces said it all. The thing that I was so desperately trying not to hear was “Oh Jesus honey! You need to get that looked at!” The reality of my attempted cover up was upon me (Pound Cake! Urth Cafe pound cake mind you! But pound to the face no less). I drove the kids home, and I am pretty sure this is when my mind started to implode. I was freaking myself out. And when we walked in the front door, I freaked their dad out too. The brain explosion was now all over my face. He could see this was not our normal Briana. Through a distant gaze that looked through him, rather than at him, I think I explained that I needed to go to the hospital. The severity of the situation now had a vise grip on me. I became stunned, paralyzed, immobile. And I will never forget how this funny man-dad sprung to action. I stood back in a daze as he hunted the web, manned the phones and presented me with a list of Urgent Care centers. He is a phenomenal man, but not necessarily someone I would go to if I needed a lightbulb changed. I was thoroughly impressed and honored by the efforts he took for me. With a look of concern in his eyes, he sent me out with a caring yet awkward hug. Ooooh gifts of love and intimacy!

Careening down the hill, mind careening out of control, I tried desperately to check in with my inner knowing. Where should I go? What should I do? Who should I………Oh crap! My date! He was showing up at my house in 30 minutes. Yikes! I pulled over and groaned helplessly to myself. Ooowwwwhhhh I hate being this girl. I can’t stand the weepy, weakling, hypochondriac and all of the sudden I felt like that girl. Not knowing if he had left Long Beach yet, I give him a call. Despite my effort to come across strong and together, I hear my voice and…..”ugh God! Is she whining?” I explain that I am worried and don’t know what to do, I just need to do something! On the other end of the phone, all I get is this serene, gentle calm. Full of peace, he offers to come over and take a look at it, and if need be, he will take me to the hospital. Really!?! How amazingly sweet! I’ve only met this guy once. What a grand gesture. What a truly selfless act. I am touched. I am flattered. But am I really going to show him the alien spawn?

Thirty minutes later he is waiting downstairs. I am greeted with the most enveloping hug. I feel a little better already. He comes upstairs and takes a look. I cringe as I hike my pant leg up and reveal my imperfection (on the second date!). He doesn’t react. He doesn’t barf. He gets in there and takes a good solid look. “Poison oak,” he says. “I grew up in Northern California, I used to get that all the time.” He smiles at me playfully, “You’ll be fine.” I am relieved and annoyed.

Having a cute boy in my house proved to be a good distraction. I bring him downstairs, into my room, and a little deeper into my world. My bedroom is temporarily a theater closet with costumes strewn about in preparation for my upcoming trip to Colorado for the Snow Down Festival. Now it is my turn for show and tell. I am at home in my palace, but my comfortability with him allows my silliness to emerge.  I start trying on various forms of ridiculous. Each piece has a tale, and he is happy to hear. Despite my state of play, I continue to fall back into my worry about my leg. He sees that my concern has not left the building, so he suggests we leave the building instead…..and head for the ocean. He claims that the salt water from the sea will be soothing. I should let mother nature take a crack at this one. As we prepare to embark out into the cold, night air, I search for cozy clothes to wrap my body in (and look cute in!). Currently I am wearing my fur hunters hat and white shaggy spaghetti and meatballs jacket from Halloween. Without really meaning it, he dares me to just wear what I have on. It looks warm enough. Oh no you didn’t just dare me! Guess who really gets to look like a fool now? The guy walking with the girl who looks like a homeless Yeti, that’s who! You asked for it darlin!

Outside my apartment, I become less aware that I am dressed like a a dirty snowball, and more aware that it is Saturday night. Strolling towards the shore, we pass party people in heals and popped collars. I get uncomfortable. Not because of my garb, but because I am walking hand in hand with someone in my neighborhood……and I have never done this before.  We reach the waves and he holds back as if to say, “You go ahead. I’ll be right here.” Oh no you don’t. You are coming in with me. Shoes off, pant legs roll up, I drag him into the surf. The combination of night’s sky, misty moon and the cool lapping of water is in fact soothing…..and very romantic. It doesn’t take long before I am in his arms and we are that absurdly cute cliche of two people kissing, under the stars, in the ocean. It also doesn’t take long for the waves to notice we have let down our guard against it’s salty attacks. Soon we are soaked, but still kissing.

It was definitely not my intention to let this man spend the night in my bed. But what kind of evil bitch sends home a man in wet jeans after he just drove 30 miles to take care of her? Apparently not this one. I loaned him a pair of sweatpants. Probably the least I could do.

The rest of the night becomes a bit of a blur. Or did it really exist? When my lips touch his, time slows down or perhaps stops all together. Two bodies melding in perfect jigsaw fashion. The satisfaction of finding those two pieces that click right into each other. Details of touch and words uttered are insignificant and ultimately forgotten because the feeling was so right. When we finally released one another from our ecstatic embrace, I came out of a dream. What just happened? Bewildered by a new experience, actually getting completely lost in another human being. I chuckled inside of myself. I wasn’t bored at all! It wasn’t that same old chestnut of lips on his, mind miles away (thinking about laundry, that episode of Tru Blood, or that quinoa salad in the fridge). How absolutely delicious! Behold! Yet another gift of love and intimacy. Thank you, more please!

Waking up to a scrumptious man in my bed wasn’t so bad either. All night, his tender hand didn’t leave my body. I welcomed sweet kisses in the A.M., impressed with my tolerance in having my morning hijacked by the presence of another.  Also, thoroughly pleased with myself for having let someone in, let them see the dirt, and let them choose to stay regardless. What I had judged as a weakness, was now transforming into a softness. This could be a good thing.

Eventually I would be grateful for these precious gifts that the alien spawn brought me. But not yet. Later this day, my girl Tonya would drive me to Urgent Care. Enter the first doctor who would misdiagnose me, give me antibiotics I didn’t need, and send me on my way no better off, beast still growing.  I thought I did great. I had opened up to my date, exposed myself, and got something good out of it.  The abundantly, clever and brilliant Universe decided I was not done. There was more good available to me at the bottom of a deep, black hole of vulnerability. The week to come would reveal to me just how deep that hole was.

Also, I still haven’t gotten my sweats back.

The Perfect Date: act one


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I asked the universe for gifts of love and intimacy. I did not specify the means in which I was willing to receive these gifts. Oops.

Through the Receiving Project I have opened my awareness of the infinite blessings that swirl around my being on a daily basis. At the end of the day, I am in awe at the goodness that is poured upon me. Thank you! But what about when the awareness comes through challenge and strife instead of being delivered in a basket by soft little woodland bunnies? Am I still grateful for that? Today I can say yes. If you asked me yesterday morning, the answer would be “Fuck You” and laden with streams of hysterical tears. Umph! What a morning! I will get back to that.

So weekend date madness changed course in mid-flight. My itinerary had three stops along the way. Turns out I liked my Friday night destination so much that I decided to stay and cancel the Saturday back end of my trip. Enter the Climber (Rock Climber). We had been talking on the phone sparingly for the length of about two months. Never meeting because he was in another state on business. From a couple phone conversations (and his poems!) I could tell this was an extremely sensitive and feeling man. He would text me pictures of his painting and also photos of flowers with bugs on them, Okay, that’s a first, but also kind of nice.

Because I had no desire to plan our date on the westside, I was coaxed down to his neck of the woods Friday night. For someone who used to groan at the mention of Long Beach, it has been impressing the snozberries out of me! I have been leaving the LBC thoroughly pleased that I stopped by. This date was by far, no exception. As far as conventional dates go, this one was pretty perfect. It probably didn’t hurt that he lives in a gorgeous building that sits on top of La Traviata, an elegantly hip joint with just the right amount of sass and class. Yes, we dined there. Yes, the young jazz ensemble set the mood. Yes, he had the coziest couch reserved for us. Sprinkle in a good bottle of wine and special attention from the owners and you have a pretty sweet time on your hands. And it was made all the more sugary by the adorable presence of this undeniably sincere man. Conversation flowed with ease. Stories were shared and light flirtation peppered our purple pillows. I was having a splendid time.

Part two takes place upstairs in his apartment. I felt comfortable embarking into his realm, and he seemed giddy to offer show and tell for me. His apartment tells the many tales of his life through trinkets from far away lands and photos of faces that no longer wake. He sits me down on a couch and plays for me. Guitar in hand, eyelids down, he serenades me. I close my eyes as well and allow the wine to melt me into this experience which feels like my very own. Not only is he amazing, he is also very nervous…..and isn’t afraid to admit it. I enjoy this vulnerable confession.  Previously I thought this enjoyment came from my dominating preference of securing the upper hand. Now I realize, I just needed an example of what vulnerable looks like. Little did I know, this glimpse of exposed humanity would foreshadow my gut wrenching week to come.

As my dreamy yawns grew in length, I knew it was time to make my way down the elevator and up the 405 freeway.  I knew I liked this guy, and I knew I wasn’t leaving without a kiss. Cue the stereo. Perfection persists…….in chimes Etta James’ “At Last.” We slow dance in the living room, my face tucked in the crook of his neck. Bliss achieved, I might have even fallen asleep against that skin. And just like Snow White, I am awakened by a kiss. A kiss that delights the senses, stops time and exists in a dream. When I awake again, it is daytime, I am home in my bed and I have a text message waiting for me. “Wow. I woke up this morning breathless.”

Yep. I have to agree. That was a pretty good date. So good in fact, that I cancel Saturday night’s date with Mr. Somebody to see the Climber again.

Ready for act two? Remember when I said I was calling in gifts of love and intimacy? Do you also remember me using the words gut wrenching? Stay tuned…………

Give Me What I Want!


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Oh darlings! When it rains, it pours! And how delicious that it is pouring down while the sun is streaming giddy madness over us all! I was a tad unsettled with the lull in my dating schedule, yet also relieved by the respite. I am ready to experience the surge after a sweet cat nap. I brag that I have 3! Count them 3! dates this weekend. 1) A lovely breakfast date on Friday morning. 2) An afterwork drink on Saturday. 3) A tennis play date on Sunday mid-day.  And I have conceded to be excited about them ALL! After countless dates of fizzle and die, I am revamping my enthusiasm for fun, flirting, fabulous men.

I realized the need for this after falling off the wagon. I lied again.

I really didn’t want to slide back down that slope, but I also really didn’t want to tell this guy the truth……”I am not at all excited about seeing you. I rather go home, put on sweatpants  and do some crafting.” If that is not a blow to a man’s baby maker, then I don’t know what is. So I fucking lied, boo hiss! But I also got really real with myself. There are soooo many things in life that I am excited about (crafting included!) that it does not make any sense to do something that I am not excited about. period.

I got a little pissed at myself for not being authentic. Then I got a little more pissed at the Universe for not delivering me hunky man cakes to salivate over!!! WTF??? I’m a spicy meatball! I’m a goddess extraordinaire! I deserve to have manly hounds pawing up the steep hillside to get to my castle! Why oh why was the Universe not delivering me my desire? I could keep bitching and boo-hooing or I could do what a goddess does best! She takes responsibility for her own pleasure! Low and behold, once I made this decision, my GPS (Giant Pussy in the Sky) directed me to my first of many gifts. The Receiving Project! The Uber Magical Jo Anna Rothman is the mastermind behind this 32 day process of receiving with grace. I am declaring that for the next 32 days, It is my intention to receive gifts of love and intimacy from my abundant world! I am open to the goodness that constantly shows up for me. I am here to be adored!

If you would like to join me on this sexy game of gifts, check out The Receiving Project for free and delight in what delicious goodies come your way! This is going to be great fun!

A Case for Lovers


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When I think of droughts, I think of long, hot summers, and parched, broken ground. I think of eternal thirsts and relentless longings for wet release. So to my surprise, my drought came in the dead of winter, laden with holiday distractions and intoxicated afterthoughts.

Of course, I am referring to a dating drought. A lull in flirty texts, first time meetings and mildly tolerated second dates. I allowed my excitement of being surrounded by familiar loved ones to trump my desire to get to know strangers. Duh! I had Hawaii, my bitchin Mrs. Claus outfit, New Years and my birthday weekend extravaganza to deter me from my OKCupid account. And the break in the dating action was actually very illuminating in many ways. I came to realize, that if I wasn’t willing to invite a guy I have been seeing around my friends…….red flag! If it took me weeks, not days to respond to a guy’s waiting message……red flag. After the seriously hot He-Man hook up, I realized luke warm just ain’t gonna cut it anymore. But this whole process has been a warming up of sorts.

I prize myself for my ability to bring that which I want into my life. In the beginning, I desired more men in my life. Check! That desire then graduated to wanting more dates in my life. Check! Well now the time has come for me to attract luscious lovers! I can honestly say I am all warmed up and ready to play. Yum, yum! So if I am not interested in having one night stand sex with strangers, what is a woman to do? Leave pussy an IOU and embark on the delayed gratification route of getting to know someone? OR……..start sleeping with my friends? The people whom I have already gotten to know and adore enough to keep around. Perhaps this is why being physical with He-Man felt so magical. I knew him, trusted him and truly liked who this barbarian warrior was.

“Ohhhhhh no,” I hear our motherly sides saying. “There is no quicker way to losing a friend then to sleep with him.” Things get weird and emotions get in the way and blah blah blah. I’ve seen Friends with Benefits! I know it is all good and casual and fun….until it isn’t. Yes the oxytocin, yes the misleading automatic comfort……but if a gal knows the risks, will she still fall victim to them? Only one way to find out!

Or…..another option. Get over my hang ups about sex. I have been uncovering story after old story taking up space in my head. Interestingly enough, most of these false tales were adopted in my early 20’s (when I started having sex). Not really relevant for the 31 year-old woman I am today. Stories such as: the intercourse is never as good as the foreplay, acting sexual looks desperate, the man is supposed to be the man and make the moves, and whatever other limiting beliefs I have crammed up in there. Basically what I am seeing is that those beliefs are not getting me what I want; which is a lively, sensual, passionate sex life! I am right now and forever releasing those stories and adopting a fresh outlook.

The sex I have is even better than the ecstatic foreplay.

I am a sensual and confident sexual goddess.

I act on my desires with sureness and enthusiasm, because I deserve to experience everything I want!

I am very excited to see what this new framework will deliver. I can only imagine I will be gifted with the fullness of my pleasure! Then look out lovely readers. This blog may turn into your new favorite romance novel. I guess I didn’t think that through in the beginning when I started writing. Am I really going to write about my dating escapades AND my sexual adventures? I mean my dad reads this from time to time. Gulp! But that gorgeous man of a father is a realist and he wants his daughter to have the fullest life possible. Hmmmmmm…..maybe that’s where I get it?

Let’s be clear about one thing……..or perhaps about everything!


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To get what I ask for………….delicious! 

To know what to ask for………divine! 

Currently I am wrapped up in feather heaven. This bed has enveloped me. It caresses my senses and has allowed for the kind of sleep a dreamer dreams about. With every move my body is unconditionally supported by soft pleasure. Did I mention that this bed is in a room at the 4 Seasons?………… Maui! I am gleefully reminded of something my dadio says every time I ask him how he is doing, ”I can’t complain,” he boasts. No daddy, I can’t either.

Life is lusciously good.  My holiday cheer is kicking this year and I can’t help but notice that everything is going my way. Thank you, more please.

Being in my creative flow feels magical, because it is! But in the past I had the pesky little habit of recognizing the flow, then jumping into the negative future fantasy of it coming to an end. And guess what? It would. I am not interested in that dynamic anymore. Today I choose to recognize myself as a manifestation machine and go for more. In my dating world, this ups the ante.

I am finding that the quality of man that I am inviting into my life gets higher and higher. Brava goddess! The men are more fun, more open, more generous, more mature. Yes please! As I get better and better at drawing the things I want into my world, I realize I must be more specific. Go for the gusto! Don’t be intimidated or too modest to ask for it all! For me, this makes the good even better. Here is a pleasant little story and an example.

Thursday night date with the frontrunner Spicy Guy. We have not yet failed in having an absolute blast. He picks me up and whisks me away to West Hollywood for an evening extravaganza. A good start gets even better when we walk into a bar that is hosting Lucent Dossier for an evening of Doo Lab la la lahs! Sexy, beautiful, costumed beings surround us, emerge into our experience, hoist their perfect bodies high above our scalps and drinks.  I am mesmerized by what the human body is capable of. I am sucked forward, upward, open. I am tickled, tempted, and turned on by the whole experience, by every man and women in the joint……albeit one. The one on my arm.

Dammmmmmmnit! He is so great! He is so authentic! He is not a big fat doucher! But I cannot get pussy excited about this one. How do I know? Because every time he goes to kiss me, I am just waiting for it to end. Because my arms are stick straight at my sides and my fingers don’t unknowingly tiptoe up his torso and crawl into his soft, brown curls.  Shit, shit, shit! I keep thinking this would all be so much easier if I was into this spicy number. I wouldn’t be thinking so much. I wouldn’t be worrying about how to tell him and when and where. (Remember proclamation # 4? No more lying!).

After more drinks, more dancing and yes shopping the gay stores on Santa Monica Blvd. (told you he was rad!), I get a sensation filled ride back to the westside. The night is cozy and calm. The tunes turn up and the top on his convertible comes down. Living in Los Angeles feels so sexy in this moment. I allow my tired mind to hit the head rest and my eye shades to fall.   Either I am too blissed out, or too nervous to say what I need to say. Nonetheless, I fall into sleep in the front seat.

Out in front of my house, I squirm in my seat. Honestly, I almost brave the good night kiss and make a ninja break for the stairs.  But I know I cannot because that would only elongate the agony of my inauthenticity (which is truly more uncomfortable then explaining how I feel……or how I don’t feel rather). Squirming, squirming, I groan. “In service to full honesty, I have to share something. I find you totally amazing………and……..I am not feeling a sexual attraction between us.”

Aaaaahhhhhhhhh the immaculate release! I am so proud of myself, I want to chest bump me! Because he is uber cool, the remainder of the conversation is civilized, understanding and open. Thank God! If he yelled and me, I might have thrown up. He still wants to pursue hanging out. Perhaps he can tame this wild vixen or seduce her over to the dark side?

I race up the stairs with a jaunty spring in my step. Lovely leaps and bounds of self-liberation. Then, halfway up, another groan emits…….awwwhhhhhh. Not because I left anything unsaid. Because, “Where Oh Where is My Turn On?”

(Little did she know that in less than 24 hours the wait would be over).

Fast forward to the next night. By some mystical aligning of the ethers, a valiant He-Man stepped forth and grasped my mighty baton hovering in sensual purgatory. With a tight and manly grip, he ran with it. Nevertheless, the evening was no race; this was a pleasure run.  I became woman to his touch. He became helpless to a goddess expressing her delight. I have no words that describe the electricity created among two bodies of flesh. I just know to say thank you. What was it that allowed me to forgo my head and surrender my body to the night? Was it pheromones? Was it He-Man’s special powers? Was it the tribal tea we drank? Guess what? I don’t care!

A while back I stated a desire to have a man’s presence linger on my body, devour my thoughts. I wanted little luscious loop de loops. Well………….Voila! Fish, fish, got my wish! I am kicking ass at this game and I don’t intend on letting up. (My daddy taught me that one too). When desires and fun collide, watch out! There is no end to what can be conjured. This only leaves me with one question. What shall I ask for next?

The Friend Factor


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First off, I have a confession to make. I lied. I am a liar.

Although completely accurate, this little factoid is at times hard to stomach. Then again, at times it also feels completely justifiable. Perhaps I shall give a for instance.

Thursday night, leaving work, on my way to a first date meeting with computer Marc. I descend from my cell-free existence in the land of Beverly. As I come down the hill I am bombarded with 6 new text messages and a couple new voicemails. Hot Damn I feel loved! Now, according to my solemn word I am to call Marky Mark on my way back to the westside so we can rendezvous at a lovely location and bring to life the magic we have concocted via email. Yipeeee! Well actually a little less than yipee………..ever since we had our first phone conversation and I hung up asking myself, “is this guy depressed?” So with that bit of information in my back pocket and my women’s spidey sense tingling, I checked my messages first. All of my messages. (Oh and I might add that this is after lingering for an extra 15 minutes at work. If I have someone to meet at night, I usually make haste in an efficient manner. My vagina’s lack of fervent longing should have been a sheer giveaway.) So I text my gay boyfriend back, send some other texts, la di dah. Then call my roomie Marina back who is desperately trying to reach me. A little confused by her overzealous attempts because her original text wondered, “movie night?” This girl must have sniped down my Netflix envelope, saw I had Crazy Stupid Love waiting and has been jonesing for Ryan Gosling all evening. Ok, I get it, I get it!

How pleasantly surprised I was to find that I was wrong. My dear Marina was waiting for me on Abbott Kinney with our fabulous friend Erik. Now know this, Erik is a big deal (per Erik fyi). You always feel super special around Erik because he is only interested in the best of the best. We adore Erik. We are just not quite sure why he likes us. So there they wait for me at the opening night of a hot new restaurant, window table seat, so fabulous. So sorry Ryan Gosling, we won’t be seeing you tonight. But oh shit! What about depressed Marc? Well, if Ryan got the boot, I think the choice is obvious.

I am not proud of this. I called up the boy and I faked a horrid stomach ache. Said I was heading home to crawl into bed and into the fetal position. I can’t stand hearing disappointment in other people’s voices. I dislike even more seeing it on their faces. But I dished out the disappointment anyway. Ultimately I was choosing what was in my pleasure over what I felt I “should” do. Selfish? Yes! But also intuitional I would come to find out.

Of course my instincts made the right decision. They always do! The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing dining experience proved to be a little slice of divinity. Not merely because of the fancy peasant fare and the trendy location, but most notably the ever-enjoyable company. Marina, Erik and I launched into topics abound, but with me in the room the conversation will most likely veer down the path of psychology, people, men, women, relationships, pleasure, and of course dating!

I made sure my friends were aware of how supremely special they are, and of the mammoth sacrifice I was making in being with them this fine evening (wink).

“Why didn’t you invite him to join us tonight?” Erik asked.

At first a laughable notion, he must be joking. He was not, Erik does not joke. The thought sunk in, “Why is it that this option never even dared to enter my consciousness?” There is noooooo way I would have invited him. A date? Meet my friends? Pangs of baby terror. This scared the shit out of me! Why?

The next day, still pondering this fear that arose, I mulled over my bullshit excuses. “He would have been uncomfortable.” “I would have had to give most of my attention to him.” Blah, blah, blah.  And guess what? They were all bullshit! The nitty gritty reality of it all is that I feared judgment……from my friends! Now aren’t they supposed to be the ones that love me the most and judge me the least? They are and they do! I have been the constantly single susan from the beginning of time and role changes throw me for a loop. Also, I think I am putting too much pressure on myself to find Mr. Fantastic. My friends are so sweet and supportive. We have been daydreaming for years about “the sublime man who will land Briana.” He will be this……..and he will be so that……..and wonderful and charming, and funny and, and, and……. Which is totally true!……but what if he is not? I constantly fear not living up to other’s expectations of me, of seeing that disappointed face. But what if the thing I am really trying to avoid is MY disappointed face? Settling, selling myself short, being blinded by love…….these are all phobias that keep me on the safe side of the tracks on the train to intimacy.

But guess what I forgot that I have? My conductor extraordinaire! My divinely brilliant and goddessy, all-knowing intuition. She knows what’s up without fail. She knew Mr. Marc was not the one. She gives me information all of the time. She is the one I tune into when deciding between pleasure and obligation. This dating adventure has nothing to do with learning to trust men. It has everything to do with trusting myself. Full faith in this luscious gift gives me the right answer every time. When I do this, I don’t need to lie. I simply speak my truth with conviction because I am aligned.

Proclamation #4: Total, loving honesty with these men…….and myself!

And as fate would have it, I had a date the next night with the spicy guy. The plan was to meet him at the SkiDazzle trade show downtown that my girl Chelsea was running like a boss. Nothing like recognizing a fear and then choosing to immediately crush it into tiny snowflakes. We had a blast……perhaps because he is the one that posed the “what are you looking for?” conversation on date #1. We launched into total, loving honesty from the start.  And get this! halfway through the night, Chelsea leans over to me and whispers, ” I approve.” I told you my friend’s aren’t ass-holes.

Out of Sight, Out of Mind


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I thought I was on a roll. I thought I was unstoppable. My Four Man Plan was filling up nicely. I had fun little stories for my cheeky blog. Then I left town.

My Los Angeles liaisons were on the other side of the country and my thoughts of them were even farther away.  Uh oh………….all of the sudden the sweet little “i miss u” text messages were met with eye rolls and apathy. Shit!

I honestly did not really think of any of these men while I was away. When I shared this fact with my roomie Marina, she replied, “Oh that is good!” It is? “Yeah!” she went on. “You don’t want to get all caught up in thinking about someone every second of the day.” I don’t?

(Now granted this comes from a woman who is currently in an arranged marriage with Fox Sports. If all of her thoughts don’t revolve around Sunday’s NFL game, she’s fucked……not in the good way.)

The fact of the matter is, I do! I do want to like/love/cherish someone enough that they consume my thoughts. I want their presence to linger. I want that giddy excitement when my phone dings. I desire that puke-induced feeling of my heart free falling into my gut when the text is actually from them. Oh to have those disgustingly sweet nights of tossing and turning because they forgot to turn off the lights in my body and brain when they left. For this task, no ordinary man will do.

So what do I do? I have been pondering this predicament. I assume that 4 Man Planning Goddess Cindy Lu would suggest two solutions. 1) Shut up and keep going. Silly woman, stop sabotaging a good thing. Give it time. Let it grow. 2) Keep collecting those quarter men. There are billions upon billions of men in the world. Go find what you fancy.

This thought also wandered in……….what if it has nothing to do with the men? What if my bloody ovaries are to blame? As an independent, free-thinking female I tend to assume that I have control over my experience at all times. Not so! We women seem to contract some form of temporary amnesia. We waylay the notion that our bodies and beings are hijacked on a regular basis by hormones. And yes this can be very nice when our testosterone and estrogen are on the rise and our lovely little libido kicks in. With sex drive on sizzle, of course I’ll go out with you Mr. Man! Oh, and you are going to be an hour and a half late? That’s okay, kiss my neck just like that and I’ll probably overlook your inconsideration in a few.

But what about this time of the month? (as opposed to that time of the month). When testosterone and estrogen kick the bucket and progesterone climbs the ladder? This week three of our cycle is often characterized by the beginning of irritability and weepiness followed by a sluggish calm. Sex drive takes a nose dive and orgasm is more difficult to achieve. Get out of my sweatpants and meet you out on the town? No thanks.

Could this be the illuminating piece of data in my science experiment of man? The lab says it is at least worth a gander. I will press on and continue testing this hypothesis, because that is what good little pleasure researchers do. But all the while, I can’t help but hope for that one special little lab rat that I just can’t help but free from its cage and take home with me. This special little lab rat will make me want to take my work home. He will want to cuddle up on the couch with sweatpants on because he is happy to be with me and free from the cage of my testing.

Variety is the Spice of Life

I made a discovery this morning. I woke up, just as I have every other morning, not realizing that I was about the embark on a huge piece of information that would change the way I interact with my world.

There are men everywhere! 

Seriously! Where have they been all of this time? Or perhaps more accurately, where have I been all of this time?

Some magical switch has been turned on in me and the penises are illuminated. They are lovely! They are enchanting! They are pretty darn cute, but more importantly, they exist! Coming from someone who has been in a very very long man drought (or boycott) this is very exciting news.

What I find even more exciting is that they are all vastly different. I know as women, we sometimes like to make the lame excuse that all men are the same. “All he cares about is sports, beer and sex.” “He doesn’t like to do the things that I like to do.” “I kind of felt like he just needed something to rub his  dick on.” (this one is a quote by yours truly)

I would like to expound a rebuttal to this nasty stereotype by making a fine presentation of the men that I have been delighted to share time with.

The Turk- We have heard much of the Turk for he is the one inspiring my body to sing “you make me feel like a natural woman.” Half the time he is in a mellow mood, observing. On the other side of the coin, across the table at a meal, he launches into a refreshing and fascinating world view. And don’t forget the verbal sweet treats that spew from his lips. Words so nice, my skepticism thinks twice.

The Free Spirit- First date, an hour and a half late. Since we are in Venice, he takes the golden opportunity to make a pit stop at one of our many fine medical dispensaries and drops $200 on herbage. Okay big baller! He is an everything upfront kind of guy…..older…..has known a lot of women. First toast of the date, he steals a kiss. The baller is ballsy. On the way to drop me off he launches into the “so what are you looking for?” exchange. We talk openly about the idealism of monogamy, human jealousy and being open to receiving love in various forms from various sources. He gets out and opens the door for me. I have my first mini make-out on the stoop of my apartment building. Thanks for letting me beat you at darts……..good talk.

The Money Man- What is more fun than taking a morning stroll down the homeless laden boardwalk in Venice? Doing so with a dapper man on your arm. See what kind of attention you get when you get escorted by a tall man in a pin-striped suit and bow tie! Pretty sweet people!

The Single Dad- Even a black-hearted woman would crack when presented with a blond haired, blue eyed man raising his blond haired, blue eyed four year-old daughter. Tenderness that pure melts emotional tar. Why do the good guys always get fucked over ladies?

The Photog- Six in the morning, sitting, yawning, dozing off at the airport. Coffee can’t start the morning off the way a boisterous man, pulling an all-nighter, talking on his cell phone about fetishes can. Oh yes, I listened to the entire conversation, and then engaged him once his mistress on the other end was dismissed. This big man was loud, lewd and had a “fuck it, it’s only sex” attitude. He digs women and is not afraid to talk about eating pussy while sitting next to old people and mid-westerners. He gave me his card. He is a photographer. He was in town on a shoot and a wild ride. I found him fun and fascinating, especially because he cleverly incorporated symbols of cock and balls and boobies into his business cards. He also spelled boudoir wrong. Next time he is in town, he offered to do a photo shoot with me. He can be reached at You’re welcome!

The Military Man- Sexy full sleeve tattoos on both arms and as wet behind the ears as you could imagine. His shameless honesty about his inexperience is unexpected, disarming. He is the guy who boasts about his wins without coming off conceited. He is just genuinely happy for himself. He is that dude that can talk about taking apart cars, and flying planes for hours. He is from the south, but out in California most of his friends  right now are lesbians. I am invited over for barbecue and beers anytime.

Okay, so the fine print truth of the matter is yes! men do forfeit the usage of their brain when they are knee deep in an erection. Hence my mother’s terrifying words of warning when I was only 12 years old, “boys think with the wrong head!” But I must also admit that we women can be huge ass-holes when it comes to judging men! When in use, a man’s brain can be quite intriguing. He also has a huge and loving heart, if he chooses to accept that. I happily report that my bitchy, scared, veil of a guard is falling to the floor. I don’t plan on picking it up and reattaching it anytime soon. This is too fun. My appreciation of men trumps my indignation of them.

Proclamation #3: I choose to see the yummy qualities in men and eat them up.

With all of that being said, allow me to contradict myself……..

Goddess Freyja Activates

 “Life is too short to be a prude.”

That is what my gay husband told his sister when she found herself newly single after a long monogamous relationship ended last year. It is this very same piece of gay boy wisdom that re-entered my awareness Saturday morning after drawing my goddess card for the day.

GODDESS FREYJA (Bold) “Unleash your adventurous side! Take risks and be daring.”

Just look at this temptress. I can’t imagine that the word “no” is ever uttered to this insatiable being. She hypnotizes with her eyes. She magnetizes all that she desires with immediacy and ease. The goddess book reads: “Freyja rides in a chariot pulled by mighty cats across the rainbow bridge connecting Heaven and Earth. (Ummmm….fuck yeah!) Unafraid of her sexual power, Freyja teaches us to appreciate our attractiveness and to enjoy ourselves.”

Okay, my message was clear. Let go mama! Enjoy yourself and bask in the pleasure that is knocking on your door……yes literally knocking on my door. Enter, the Turk.

I must pat myself on the back as I get increasingly better at asking for what I want. This is a lovely little concept that was presented to me while attending Mama Gena’s School of Womanly Arts. Seemingly simple in theory, experientially nerve-wracking in practice.

So what did I want? I desired for the Turk (who attended massage school inTurkey…..for fun) to come over Saturday morning and give me rub down before I whisked away to work. Knock, knock, knock…….he eagerly obliged.

Our first hour together was filled with niceties, simple conversation and his gracious refusal of the fresh vegetable juice I had just made. This man, so mellow in his demeanor, I wondered could he keep me interested in the long run? I soon discovered that people who lack fierce social skills can make up for it with other attributes.

I laid a fresh sheet down over my bed, got undressed and draped a bath towel over my delicious derrière. I usually go nude when I indulge in a massage. As he entered the room, there was a palpable realization that being naked in a room with a stranger under the pretense of professionalism is very different than being naked in your room with a cute foreigner who adores you.

My candles were lit. My Portishead was playing. Sweet submission.

I lapsed into timelessness. Weightless. Mindless. Free. I am reminded how much the body yearns to be touched. Involuntary moans escaping my lips. I was utterly relaxed. And then it was time to flip over onto my back. The sensual pleasure continued…..and then shocked the shit out of me. Up under the towel, pressing down above my pubic bone, magic happened. The urban legend proved true. Blood from my extremities rushed to my center and pulsated deep within me. I was under a sensual assault. A surprise attack if you will. Did he know what he was doing? Of course he knew what he was doing. I kept my eyes closed and rode Freyja’s kitty cat drawn chariot down the mountain. I think I will keep asking for what I want.

From an American standpoint, the Turk is mind-boggling. My delight is his pure aim, without any expectation for reciprocation. The next two days are laced with tender texts from him, thanking me!

After he walks me out to my car (carrying my bags!), he tells me this. “You do not understand. You are the color of my life.” Whoa! How does one respond to that? This time instead of laughing in his face, I smile. Thank you, more please.