Botanic Gardens, Two Bottles of Wine, and a First Date

This is on my brother's fridge. Apropos for my Saturday night.

As I sit on my couch and recount this tale, I will say this is a warning. Do NOT do this on a first date. I am a trained professional at making an ass of myself. With Gershwin and a cup of coffee I will retell my tale of laughter and accidental drunkeness with Hollywood (you know I don’t give names!).

“So…um…would you like to go out on a date with me sometime?”

It was just so endearing. He did the adult version of kicking the dirt with his feet. How could I possibly say no? I had been coming into the store where Hollywood worked for weeks in a row. I never really lead on that I thought he was handsome but perhaps it was stopping to have extended conversations with him that did it. Or maybe it was my comment in this particular meeting that I’m a pagan and well…I’m going on a camping trip and we get a bit crazy with Dionysus. Who knows? Either way, he got the balls up to ask.

This past Saturday night we met on the playing field of the first date. A Denver Botanic Gardens membership, bottle of red, bottle of white, a pack of smokes, and two strangers that have an attraction. GAME ON!

Many events happen at the Gardens on a summer Saturday night such as weddings, charity events, anniversary parties, you get the gist. I show up on my bike and am waiting only a few minutes when I see Hollywood. He navigates through the throng of wedding attendants, regular patrons and random passers-by to my perch on the bike rack wall. He hides the bottle of red I brought in his backpack. We make our way into the Gardens with the contraband wine, walk around a bit while he tells a tale of his grandfather (he invented Spring Break…hilarious!), and as it starts to rain on our 2 person parade, we find a cozy little spot that hides us in a bunch of pine trees.

Hollywood takes out the chilled bottle of white. A Gewürztraminer from the Willamette Valley in Oregon! Brownie points for him! Then 2 wine glasses follow. Actual glass. More brownie points for style. Good wine, interesting conversation, out in nature, and then he asks if I mind if he smokes. I only mind if you don’t give me one. Talk about bad kids breaking the rules! Bottle number one is down for the count and we start on bottle number two but not without an intermission, aka a potty break. Since we’re so far back in the Gardens, we have no clue where the nearest bathroom is so we do a little bushwacking to where Cheeseman Park butts up to the property line. I pop a squat and he’s looking at me, “AHEM! Be a gentleman and turn around!”. I think he was so stunned that I didn’t say we should try to find the bathrooms he forgot all his manners. Of course, that really didn’t matter to me. His job was to watch for any pedestrians coming our way, not watch me.

As the deed is done, we hear people coming our way so I do what I’ve been taught to do in the movies…pretend you’re making out to serve as a distraction and cover up. What can I say? It does actually work. Silly Americans and your adversity to public displays of affection.

We decide to walk the Gardens a bit more (flip flops off which was so nice to do) and end up, again, at the back in the Japanese  section on a very long bench. We continue drinking the red wine, having a wonderful conversation, feeling the moist earth under our feet as night time falls on us. The Gardens are becoming more quite as the Christmas lights in the trees become brighter. I love the Gardens at night. It makes me want to put my fairy wings on and go running around and climbing trees. I’m not really sure how it happened, but he kissed me. It started out as one of those passionately tender kisses, the kind that make you melt and rile up all those butterflies in your stomach. Then it became the kind of kiss that grabs you in the primal parts of your body and soul and nothing else exists except the two of you. I was aware that a few people started to walk the path where we were, then an ‘Oh!’ was heard and the steps went away.

I have no clue how long we were there kissing. It had been such a long time since I had felt such overwhelming passion and lust from just kissing, I didn’t care who saw us. Except when you realize there’s a flashlight on you and a guy saying, “The Gardens are closing. Make your way to the gate, please.”

Seriously, I felt like we were two teenagers making out minus the embarrassment of getting caught.

We make our way towards the main gate with a detour to the bathrooms. On the way, we walk through what looks like a separate event from the wedding that happened earlier. After our potty break, Hollywood gets the slim idea of seeing if they’d give us some wine. Man after my own heart….they give us two PINT glasses filled with white wine! Whoa! Hey, what’s over there? A big tent with soft lights on the lawn…perfect for dancing under. So of course we set the wine down and try our hand at the waltz. I’m laughing my ass off because we’re totally not doing the waltz (I’ve had dope training in waltz, foxtrot, and salsa), there’s no music, and we’re barefoot in the grass. As we’re laughing and dancing, the SAME GUY comes by and says EXACTLY the same thing. He’s apparently very into his job.

We finally make it to the main gate. My wine had taken a spill in the grass so my cup had maybe 3oz in it. Hollywood had about half a cup left. We drained our cups and made our way out onto the street. It was a beautiful night so we sat on the wall by my bike for a bit. We had started this date at 6pm and it was quite late now especially since we both had to work the next day. We started kissing again and the world went away. And then suddenly it came crashing back as we both tumbled about 2 feet off the wall into some pretty tough long grass. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t find my sunglasses! He helped me up, then bent over the wall and like magic they were in his hands. I decided that some water might be a good idea even though I was feeling pretty good, just a little dehydrated. I took a big sip. We kept kissing.

And it happened.

In no more than 2 minutes did my stomach protest the ingestion of something besides wine. The world started to spin and I said, “I don’t think the wine is mixing with the water very well…” and my brain said to my conscience, “Hey, I think we forgot to eat dinner before this date…” Whoops.

New guideline for living: Eat dinner before you meet a date for drinks. Yakking not fun on a first date.

Old guideline re-instated: Do not mix your drinks, i.e. white wine, then red wine, then champagne, then 2 shots of vodka…you get the idea. That was on a night about 4.5 years ago. Stick to what you start with.

We ended up laying down by the bike rack together, hidden from the sidewalk and road by a row of plants and a 2 foot wall. My head was on his chest, I could hear his heartbeat and feel him breathe. I love that. It’s just so relaxing for me to hear a heartbeat with the warmth of a chest under my cheek. Little to our knowledge, the Moonlight Ride was happening on the other side of the wall. We heard bells and peaked up over our man-made fox hole. Hundreds of bikers, young and old, passing by us and going into the parking garage. Great. I am Teresa’s sense of “Oh Shite, I hope no one recognizes me”.

Apparently Hollywood had dinner along with a better tolerance to wine (the tannins get me every freaking time) so he loaded up my bike in his car and drove me the 8 blocks home. Those were the 8 longest blocks in history. For all the fun it was, I was sure that this was going to be the first and last date. I fortified my senses, ready for the blow of “Yeah, I’ll call you later this week…” Translation: I am so totally not calling you ever again. Hollywood pulls up in front of my building, pulls my bike out, kisses me good night and asks if I would want to go on another date. What? For real?

Tonight: The Second Date

Wish me luck. We’re going for sushi.

Wine Mixing Traditions

Now that is cup for wine!

This was a workshop that my most awesome friend, Candice, and I put together. She and her husband own a winery/meadery in Colorado named Dithyramb Winery. Therefore the subject was one of interest. We found some interesting info on top of some tasty recipes. The ancient Romans and Greeks thought it was barbaric to drink wine undiluted. Candice found this piece written by Eubulus in his circa 375BC play Semele or Dionysus concerning the consumption of wine:

“Three bowls do I mix for the temperate: one to health, which they empty first, the second to love and pleasure, the third to sleep. When this bowl is drunk up, wise guests go home. The fourth bowl is ours no longer, but belongs to violence; the fifth to uproar, the sixth to drunken revel, the seventh to black eyes, the eight is the policeman’s, the ninth belong to biliousness, and the tenth to madness and hurling the furniture.”

This exert is what made the wheels in my mind spin with the thought of doing a workshop such as this:

WEDDING WINE

from Elizabeth Cunningham’s The Passion of Mary Magdalen

I don’t know exactly what was in the wine.
It tasted fiery and sweet.
I suspect it was red mead: Maeve Rhuad
Mead mixed with red wine.
An intimate joke, a pun made by the Bridegroom
that only the Bride would understand.
Its effect transcended any ingredient.
It was like drinking life itself:
new-turned earth, sun, wind scented with sea,
blossoms opening at first light, the ripe perfection of fruit—
the elements gathered on our tongues, lingering on our breath.
It was like drinking love itself,
the passion of the Bride and Bridegroom distilled,
shared among the guests,
flowing in all our veins, rivers from a single rise.
If we were drunk, we were divinely drunk.
We were in love. In Love. All of us.
None of us could bear to part that night.
The stars were so beautiful. We were so beautiful.
In the end, we all slept together,
no one alone, each one beloved. 

As we shared what we had learned, we passed clay cups (the Greeks used a kylix during symposiums which were “drinking parties” for general socializing) filled with the different concoctions to share with each other. We had fun exploring this alternate world of wine, so for all the peeps who attended the workshop this past week and all you on the inter-webs, here are the recipes:

The Ancient Greek/Roman Way – 3 parts water to 1 part red wine (I find a half n half mix is nice, not too diluted but helps chase off the potential headache in the morning)

Muslum – Mix honey in with red wine, to your taste.

Maeve Rhuad – 1 part red wine to 1 part mead

Mulled Wine – well, I don’t really have a recipe, but I bought the spice mix from a quaint place called Savory. Check them out at www.savoryspiceshop.com. After passing this cup around we added some water and mead to the mix and it took alot of bite off.

Turk’s Blood – 3oz champagne, 2oz red wine

French Monkey – 2/3 glass red, 1/2 glass Orangina (I used San Pellegrino Orange)

Seaside Summerbliss – 2 parts red wine, 3 parts sweet apple cider

Red Wine Cooler – 4oz red wine, 2oz lemon/lime soda, 2oz ginger ale (it was mentioned that just ginger ale was better)

If anyone has any other wine mixing recipes/traditions, old world or modern, please feel free to post them!

Cheers!

Wine, Camping, and Radio Flyer Wagons: Part I

This past week, I was at a private festival that celebrates wine and the Greek god Dionysus. It’s a yearly event for me and it has this odd way of resetting my sanity and perception of the world. Many of us come from different parts of the country to this event, sometimes being the only time we see each other during the course of the year. We laugh, we cry, we do rituals, we teach workshops, we dance around a bonfire to the sound of drums, and we fall asleep to the sound of other people having sex or having a good laugh. It’s a magical time of introspection, of extraversion, of being able to be who you really are in the safety of the people who accept you for the real you. It’s the best time of just letting go. Letting go of everything. Especially since there is no cell phone service.

This year was a me year. No significant other tailing me. Not even a “benefits” friend. Just lil’ ole me. It was perfect.

I have broken something every year I’ve been going. The previous years I broke hearts except for last year. Last year I broke a tent (it was tied to my car to keep it from flying away….whoops…). This year I broke NOTHING! Oh wait, I did break something. My perception of myself and where I’m going. But that’s coming. Just wait.

Tuesday and Wednesday I couldn’t stay during the day yet still journeyed to the festival in the evening for revelries and slumber. There’s nothing like sleeping outdoors especially when one has a memory foam topper for their queen size air mattress and a king size down comforter to keep them warm.

Tuesday Night: After a torrential downpour and almost getting stuck on a mud road, I arrive at the festival for the first night. I am greeted by a variety of people, yet looking for where my cohort (Amber) had placed our encampment. Before I can find her, I am whisked off to the opening for the main dome.  The couple who put this event together are good friends of mine. As the rules of this plush, foam padded, multi-pillowed, fake fur lined dome are explained to the participants who are there, I am playing a game of foot wrestling with the wife. After the rules are explained, I hear a shout for Greco-Roman wrestling and suddenly I am tumbling around on the squishy floor, the wife and I laughing hysterically. It was a good way to start the night.

Note: Last year, my friend Jason and I got into a really good match. He does a lot of martial arts training. It was a proud moment for me to give him a run for his money. I am like an Altoid: curiously strong.

After hanging in the dome for awhile, I head a few paces away to the other dome which was being called the nipple (due to its shape) by the end of the festival. The nipple had blow-up recliners and couches. AWESOME! After listening to (and participating in) some conversations about giving head and anal sex, I strike a question to Spanky. I’ve known Spanky for years and know the person he is. I’ve met his wife once (I think) so I asked how things have been between them. He waves the question off a bit saying he could use my advice on love. A comment that I don’t exactly remember was chimed in, something to the tune that I was jaded on love. The most surprising thing came out of Spanky’s mouth…she still believes in love or else she wouldn’t be here.

Do I still believe in love? Of course I do. As much as it breaks my heart, I am a romantic. I still believe after so many failed relationships and a divorce that there is someone out there for me. There’s a lot of someones’ that fill/will fill the gap until I finally bump into him, but he’s out there. Somewhere. He’s waiting for me too. Ok, I hope he’s out there waiting for me.

Realization #1: I had become so grumpy about the lack of good men, actual dateable MEN (not boys or guys) that are around my age, I had come off as jaded about love. How sad! Now, how to fix that?!

Don’t get me wrong, there’s some good guys out there that will make amazing partners from some woman. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit different. It’s hard finding a guy that willing to put up with me, my crazy friends, AND who isn’t a wall flower. I’m a force of nature. I need someone just as strong and open-minded. Geez, that felt like a speed dating intro.

Next: Wednesday and the arrival of Greylin

This is my happy place. Ok...one of my happy places.

Pain and Pleasure

Pain is a way our bodies tell us there is a stimulus affecting us.

Pleasure is another way our bodies tell us there is a stimulus affecting us.

Sometimes the lines between these get blurred and we get to choose an outcome. Pain or pleasure? Why not both? Can pain cause pleasure and vice versa?

Yes.

When one stimulus overrides another, we tend to feel the stronger. Yet, what if you were to train your mind to be able to switch that stronger stimulus into something else? How cool would that be? It would be like having a super power! Which, I’m already a super heroine so here’s my spiel:

When a little child falls down, they’re on the brink of tears. They feel pain. Child looks at you for confirmation of pain and permission to cry therefore getting attention. Some of us do the “shake it off…you’re ok” which can work pretty well. Even using it on an adult works really well. This weekend, I was the subject of such an event.

Denver Cruisers is an event where people go cruising around the town en masse on their bicycles stopping at designated bars and the ever fun Circle of Death. Oh yes! It’s high speed bicycling fun in a large circle and people try to cross it to get to the action in the middle. It’s like a tornado of bikes. Rides happen on Wednesdays and Sundays. Wednesdays are the themed nights where you can dress up and this week’s is cops and robbers. Sundays are more mellow and more focused on longer rides. This past Sunday was my first time attending the Sunday ride. Little did I know what awaited me.

Which just so happened to be a speed skater who knocked me off my bike.

As I started to fall, I knew it was going to hurt. Falling always hurts, no matter what speed you’re going. My left shoulder and knee took the brunt of it and my hands got scrapped up but not too bad (I was going to buy biking gloves that day but decided to not. Doh!). The 50 other Cruisers stopped and asked if I was ok. Shocked and bleeding, I moved my ankles and arms, felt my body a bit and decided there was nothing broken. Score! The skater was a man in his 50′s. He pushed his way through the crowd and said, ” Are you ok? You should look behind you when you bike…” and then walked away. Wow…what a butt wipe.

My only thoughts were:

• “Ouch, my body hurts…”
• “What a douche! He’s lucky I wasn’t one of the millions of little kids playing in this park.”
• “Shake it off, T.”

Which I did shake it off, get on my bike, and ride with everyone else to our last destination. Everyone at the ride was super nice and supportive, getting the confirmation that I’m a true Denver Cruiser now because I spilled some of my blood on the ride. I could still feel aches settling in and after an hour of hanging out I decided to head home for a hot shower and the impending pain of cleaning wounds.

I won’t bore you with details, but I did end up doing something quite naughty before hitting the shower. Let me just say, when you can’t be with the one you lust, you can still do it over video chat on Skype! It was just what the doctor should have ordered. As things got more heated, the more I didn’t notice the pain. Even afterwards, as I jumped in the shower, warm water burning my abrasions with a rainbow of pain, I chose to feel the ecstasy of an orgasm come and gone. Even though I wanted to yell in pain, I wanted to moan in pleasure more, so I did neither (at midnight, I don’t think my neighbor would have appreciated it). I chose pleasure over pain and the pain just heightened the pleasure.

I let go.

I'm such a bad ass in a plaid bra!

The Rules of Good Living

The Sassy Beer Gypsy IS someone's conscience.

Some people may think I’m an alcoholic. Some people may think I’m promiscuous. And, well, some may think I’m a lesbian. Ok, so it was my mom who thought I was a lesbian because I was kinda pissy about her comment that I need to date a nice Catholic boy. I said in return, ” What if I don’t want to date a nice Catholic boy? What if I want to date women?” My mom went beyond gnashing her teeth and wailing. Every week during lent, she left me a message saying I needed to repent and give “something” up for lent. Ha. Ha! HAHAHAHA!

Contrary to my critics, I’d like to say I am none of the above.

I love beer. If beer had no alcohol, I’d still drink it.

I love sensuality. That doesn’t mean just sex. I love indulging my senses. My job requires alot of my senses, so they stay sharp. Sometimes I overwhelm them and at times I deprive them in order to make them sharper.

Having some basic guidelines for good living are important. I may be lighthearted and a hedonist, but I do NOT advocate true bad behavior (alcoholism, addiction, unprotected sex, idiocy…you  get the drift). These are some guidelines I live by:

1. KNOW your limits! I don’t get trashed every night or even have a beer every night. It’s not healthy to drink like that and I have only one liver. Also, alcohol poisoning is not fun and expensive if you end up in the ER.

2. Take RESPONSIBILITY. Like I once said, you can’t take back the stupid shite you did last night. Therefore, don’t get so schnockered you can’t remember or you make bad decisions. Blaming other people or things for your dumb ass is lame. Buck up and take responsibility for your actions!

3. NEVER drive if you’ve been drinking. That is just plain stupid. Besides your death, do you really want to be responsible for the death of innocent people? Don’t be a douche bag…get a taxi. AND if you’re biking, have a buddy who is sober because getting a DUI on a bike sucks ass.

4. SAFE SEX!!! Babies and STDs are expensive, not just financially expensive but on a Twin Towers sized spectrum of expensive. There are some bad choices that stay with you for life and there’s some that shorten your life. Not being safe can do both. Be respectful of yourself and others, use a condom!

5. Be an ELITIST. I am an advocate of being VERY picky when it comes to lovers. Sensuality and sex are sacred to me, so I’m not going to hook up with just anyone.

6. NEVER shag someone when you first meet them or on the first date. That’s just bad form. I usually wait until after the third date, IF there is a third date and it’s still not a guarantee. I’m an elitist.

7. The most important rule: Use (un)common sense. Even after a few beers, you can still use it, yet it seems like so few do. Common sense is pretty sexy.

These are just some of the more important points. I like having fun but not at the price of my health or the people I’m with. That’s just rude.

Have fun out there and remember to be responsible!

Beer, Sex, and Travel: Part Three

My travel companion: Amber

Part Two would have been posted much sooner if wasn’t shagging this handsome young man who will be moving next week to Wisconsin. I’m taking a night off from ripping his clothes off so you get more of me! Besides, all this sex-ercise is giving me the abdominal workout of the year (at least for 2011). I’m fit, but being 7 years older than him is giving me a run for my money. It’s still way fun and I am enjoying every minute!

Anyhoots, onwards and upwards…into the wild blue yonder!

Traveling has been in my blood for probably my whole life if not longer. My parents met during the Vietnam War, were married, and suddenly the stork dropped off my elder brothers and I. Before mom gave birth to me, my family went to Thailand (my mom is Thai, my dad was stationed there). My parents were always taking us somewhere even if it was just to the Adirondacks to camp for the weekend. If you read the About page, then you know my love for NYC at the age of 12. I’ve always been a wandering soul.

Unfortunately, up until a few years ago, most of my wandering has been only in the US and parts of Canada (yipee! Canada!). Long story short: September 2007 I was married in Greece (marriage + me = bad idea). I LOVED Greece!!! I had a 6 hour layover in London and saw everything I possibly could. February 2008 I was in the rainforest of Belize. March 2009 I was in Belize again then hopped over to Costa Rica. The worst year ever was 2010 because I didn’t leave the country. In October 2010 was the decision that my big butt was making it out of the country for 2011 and every year after that. Heck, I have a passport and it is nowhere close to being filled.

Where am I going in 2011? Ah! Good of you to ask. Prague for a week, then Paris for a week starting at the end of August. My traveling partner: Amber. Her goal is to get shagged in a castle while we’re there and see everything Mozart. Everyone has to have goals in life.

My goals: drink good beer, see as much of the cities as I can and blend in, and maybe get shagged….but those are my goals for almost every trip I go on. Except for the trips that are specifically booty calls but those are stories for another day.

Traveling is like breathing. I have to do it or else I will die (or become a raging bitch, which no one wants to see).

Welcome to my journey and hopefully you get some good laughs from the stories if nothing else!

Beer, Sex and Travel: Part Two

Copyright Victor Sanchez Studios

“…’cause I’ve been with alot of bitches.”

As quoted from Pez, a gentleman I met at the Ginger Man in Northern Dallas while drinking a wonderful bourbon cask aged stout with Stuart, who I had high designs on shagging that night. Stuart was amazed by my knowledge of beer. I was amazed by his beautifully curly dirty blonde hair and his blue eyes.

I’m a sucker for blondes with blue eyes. Especially if they have curly hair. There is nothing like waking up in the morning, after shagging all night, to perfectly soft, curly hair to nuzzle in. It still puts a smile on my face, months later.

You might be wondering how I’m going to be writing about the taboo subject of sex without it turning into porn or dating advice. So am I!

I can tell you this: My idea is to write about sensuality. Sensuality is defined as the enjoyment, expression, or pursuit of physical, especially sexual, pleasure. Therefore, I shall write about pleasing my senses which at points will entail some stories of a more sexual nature. So if you can’t handle it, then don’t read those stories but be warned they usually get interlaced with the drinking of beer and the excitement of travel. They all go hand in hand.

I recently read The Passion of Mary Magdalen. As I read the last words, I realized that this was my ‘bible’. My sacred book. It described concepts I had lived most of my life and still do. It sings of much older days, when there were priestesses and temples that healed through sensuality. They helped create culture where there was none. They were leaders of commerce since caravans would stop at the temples and trade before they moved on to another destination. When women owned land and passed it down to their children with no help of a man. If you served in the temples for a short time before being married off, then you were a highly prized woman. It was a matriarchal society and it worked.

Of course the term used for such a woman is “sacred whore” or “sacred prostitute”. Unfortunately, I don’t have a temple, but I do think that I am a modern shadow of what these women were. If you were ever one of my lovers, you might just agree.

I have never shagged or even cuddled with someone that didn’t have a hidden god. By the term ‘hidden god’, I mean a man that has no clue how awesome he is. For some reason he just hasn’t reached his potential yet and by knowing him, even in the biblical sense, I feel I help to direct him to the man he could be. There is something beautiful (physically and mentally) about all of us. I like to think that one of my gifts is to see the beauty of each person. Of course, I don’t open my door to each person, just the ones that seem to oddly recognize what I am. Not sure what I’m talking about?

Have you ever met someone and had no clue why you needed to know them, you just did? There was just something about them, a twinkle in their eye, something they said, the way they walked into the room, that caught your attention and kept it?

That is the first transaction between sacred whore and hidden god. These roles are not specifically male or female. Sometimes the roles switch throughout the relationship. In any case, usually both parties learn a new lesson and walk away ‘healed’ in some way. Sometimes it takes time to see it, but it’s always there.

Sensuality, sex, shagging, spooning, sucking face in bathrooms…we’re all animals looking for a bit of attention, some good ‘ole positive touch that makes us feel like we’re not alone. That maybe, just maybe, we are lovable and wanted.

And some of us animals travel across the world to find it…