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

Waning And Waxing aka How Many Aestheticians Does It Take to Wax One Pussy?

Boracay Beach Blog Three.Pussy1: Slang for vulva—because technically, anatomically, vagina is only the inside bits.And the next thing I know, there's another Filipino female (I hope) checking out my Sasquatch Snatch. Sasquatch Snatch: AJ slang for hair pie, which be regular redneck slang for hairy va-jay-jay, which is simple slang for uncoiffed-overgrown-I've-been-single-and-celibate-for-over-a-year cookie—which is just sad. Let's backtrack a smidge to September: Back in Canada when the weather turned autumn cool—by my standards, this is any temperature under 25 degrees Celsius—I pulled out the jeans and skipped shaving my legs and nether regions. (There are pluses to celibate singlehood.) My hair grows fast so, by the time I'd arrived in the Philippines, I was wearing a woolly layer under my winter attire. There's I...

Headline: Boracay Beach, Philippines—Not (Just) About Dirty Old Men and Young Lady-Boys.

Blog Two In The Boracay Beach, Philippines / Himalayas, Nepal AJ Travels Series.My plan was to come to Boracay to get in shape for my hike in Nepal next month—did I forget to mention that part? Yes? Well, we’ll get to that, just you wait. Where was I? Oh, right—get fit for hike. My buddy—we’ll call him Blue Eyes—who lives here in Boracay, has done a bunch of hikes in Nepal including the Mount Everest Base Camp hike and the Annapurna Circuit. A few weeks ago, I impulsively decide I need to go somewhere “spiritual” for my Canadian snowbird getaway from winter. Bhutan is at the top of my bucket list, but Nepal is at the top of my budget...

CR to Vancouver to Hong Kong to Manila to Caticlan to Jetty ... Arrive Boracay Beach, Philippines!

"Rated One Of The Best Beaches In The World." Did I ever mention I'm not a beach person? Did I ever tell you how I once missed a flight back from Costa Rica by three ... (Cough.) ... days? True story. I usually manage to get lost, lose luggage or miss flights. I’m anally organized (read: OCD) in most areas of my life, but travel ... not so much. For this trip, I’d planned on using my travel points to pay for the flight—key word “planned,” but I messed up. After I spent over 90 minutes on the phone with an Avion Travel Points rep, with Avion’s various fees and taxes, it turned out I would pay almost the same...

Not Fit To Be Tied (Up)

Black and white photos of nude women in (what I’d assumed was) bondage. With shadows subtly caressing creases and curves and with a contrast between colourless form and feminine softness, the obscurity of their faces only added to the allure—and, I admit, to my curiosity....

Robin Williams: A Serious Peace.

You guys, this is a bit of a serious piece. Actually, I’ve changed my mind already. Depression is serious, but the media has already talked about depression so much, because of Nanoo Nanoo Man, so I’m not going to go into that again here. But the death of Robin Williams did affect me. Like really really. It didn’t hit me until the day after I found out, which, since I’m a Facebook addict, was the day after he died. I might have been numb that first day or maybe in shock but, for at least a week after that, I was on the verge of (and, at times, over the edge on) eye moisture leakage. (I tried to blame it...

Me: A Rewrite, From Vanity Insanity To Self-Acceptance (Sort Of).

My Memoir is Now Available for purchase, as in: you can buy it, now. (Did I mention buy it now?) Vintage Seattle Spaceneedle Dress (cost: cheap like borsch)... And! Yes, black Peep-Toe-4"-Real-Deal-Mega-$-Christian-Louboutin's! #shameful #shameless #me!If you're already a book subscriber, you already got this except for the P.S. If that's the case, enjoy this rerun or just skip ahead.I’d also like to note that I was a different kind of crazy back when these events and odd thought ramblings occurred. I would neverrr do that stuff again. Hell no! (I’m thinking up new ways to embarrass myself with instead!) Nonetheless, since we’ve come this far together, and I am a writer now and all, I thought I’d offer you some...

There’s No Righting Rage On The Page. But He Shat Too.

Doest Not Shite Where Thou Doth Drink (Espresso). I wrote this a couple weeks ago but waited to post it. I didn’t want my fury getting the best of me. (Though, have you noticed that I do my best writing under this influence? Just sayin’.) Anyway, having allowed enough time to pass, I can safely post this now without regret. Plus, it’s funny and we all might learn something. And that’s my job: to entertain and to inspire. And to be happy. And writing this (back then) restored my gayness (not homo-gay, hetero-gay!). Two Sundays ago… I’m so mad. How mad am I? Thank you for asking. I’m so mad that I’m buying cheap pencils. And a plastic-covered notebook....

Pet Sitting Is For the Birds

goD Spelled Backwards is doG. Therefore, timmaddoG, I’m Not a Pet Person. Okay, I’ll admit my little Rent-a-Pet, cats- and dog-sitting deal was fun the first week. If you recall, my roomie is away for what is now seemingly foreverrrr. Anyway, I walk SashaMoto—I renamed her—twice a day and/or take her for hikes. I brush her fur morning and night and give her t-r-e-a-t-s and feed her and poop-scoop after her while traffic rolls by. I take her for car rides while she sits quietly in the dog-blanketed back seat. Have you met SashaMoto? I ask all wherever we went. And when I come home on days I can’t take her with me, she wags her tail and her whole...

A Conversation with God(ly People).

I wrote my last blog (the one about masturbation and dildos) before meeting the born again Christians (or is that Born Again?) for a three-hour lunch and chat, which sort of turned into a bible session—only without the Bible but with a lot of talk about our Lord God Almighty. (I’m sure referencing Him requires capitalization, and I’m also certain that a whole helluva lot of Catholics have capitalized on that for a great many years.)Anyway, I’d posted a note on my Facebook page saying I’m open for coffee if you live nearby (some restrictions now apply), and these friendly God-fearing folk took me up on the offer hoping to heal my heathen ways. (Apparently, part of doing God’s good...

Modern ‘Medical’ Devices: Divinity Approved or The Devil Dared Me?

After a few days of frustration in trying to format/upload/preview my book to online retailers and then try to send them my bank info so they’ll know where to direct all those best-seller ebook funds (sideways glance) from the impending mega sales of my memoir—details to follow—I decide to take a breather. I drive around town delivering posters that announce Pre-Order Now! even though there wouldn’t have been any way to order at all until I sorted out the aforementioned accounting and formatting technicalities. Since few will see the posters I put up right away, I say to myself (out loud), If no one is going to see these brilliant works of art (thanks Studio Ei8hty8), then why...

Waiting For Someone To Squeeze My Boobs.

Scene: Sitting in a coffee shop after skipping out on my MRI mammogram. I’m drinking a Canadiana—a drip coffee with a double shot of espresso that’s giving me triple-spasm jitters. (I don’t drink coffee anymore, never mind this high octane tasty tar.) So far as I know, there’s nothing wrong with my mams. I’m quite pleased with my pleasure-holding sweater stretchers. I only signed up for this advanced screening method because my tampered-with (read: enhanced) Ta-tas don’t qualify for the regular squishy screening option. And I’m 43 and haven’t had one done yet and half of my not-related-by-blood family has/had cancer recently and, even though they’re not by-blood loved ones, I am a paranoid-slightly-OCD-anxious hypochondriac. (Refer to several other blog...

… And Then I Got a Fcking Motorbike! Almost.

So I’m driving all over God’s creation looking for a trophy shop to recycle these real estate and humanitarian awards (singular on the latter, I wasn’t that good of a do-gooder) because I’m trying to save the planet. But while driving around, I’m polluting the hell out of it and wasting a lot of high-priced petrol in the process. I finally pull in to a small strip mall in the light industrial part of my childhood hometown that has a dirt bike shop. I figure at least these guys will know what direction to point me in. Cut. To. Next. Scene.Two days later, I’m sitting in class for the technical in-class portion of the, yes, motorcycle course¹ I’m taking....

The Sh*t We Talk About At Family Dinners. Warning: TMI.

(TMI=Too much info!) As you may know, my sister-in-law had cancer last year and part of this year—until part of her was removed—but you’ll be happy to know that she still has her ass and she’s cleared for take off, as in cancer-free! I didn’t divulge too much back then out of respect and because, yes, even I have some couth—though not a lot because here we are! Indeed, My Little Mom (MLM) and sister shake their heads, while chuckling, and call me shameless. But now that my sister-in-law’s butt is the bomb again, no worries, I can talk shit again.Add to this, MLM, who has Crohn’s Disease, which is a bowel thing again, and yes, she’s had parts removed,...

I Stab You in Neck With Fork. Or—This Is Me With PMS.

It’s been too long so I’m just going to start rambling and see where it goes. Bear with me. I’m jacked up on chocolate because I’m PMSing and another family member is in the hospital. Flashback to two hours ago: I waste petrol and kill planet to take a purpose driven dash down to the Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory, a crack junkie needing her fix, with my little mom (MLM) in tow. I rush in the store while MLM collects empty biodegradable kelp chip bags off the passenger side floor. The Candy Hostess greets me with a How are you? I’m cranky and PMSing and need chocolate right away. I reply. She half-laughs and comes around the counter with...

Mexico: Weeks 3 & 4—On Mexican Dime

Friday:Go to the market, get weekly groceries, all organic: $45. Check. Go to bakery. (It's a given at this point.) Get a fish taco (finally). Check. Go for a 'Mayan' massage—basically a hippy-dippy-chakra-balancing-my-heart-centre-hurts-and-my-legs-are-unshaven-prickly-incence-burning session. Nonetheless, afterwards, I feel pretty good even if my fourth chakra still sucks.Saturday:Bus to Mega store for organic vino and razor replacement heads. (No replacements in stock, too cheap environmentally-friendly to buy a new razor; instead, decide that I'm saving the earth one leg whisker at a time by staying hippy-dippy natural.)Go to Irish pub in full-length dress. Flee thinks I'm overdressed, but I'm just trying to cover my damn grassy gams! Plus, I am in flip flops and ponytail, which makes anything casual.Buy a hat....

Mexico: Week Two—Dog Shit, Horse Shit, Bullshit

Friday: Go to Spanish class mildly hung over from the shenanigans with Montana Man (see Mexico: Week/Weak One post), which is held at the local gringos elementary school with an earthen-floor playground (as in: compacted dirt; as in: open-air outside). My school room is under a large palapa within the confines of la escuela (the school). Mini Flee (3-years old, remember?) is doing yoga with a group of other hipster kids not far from me. She knows more Spanish than I do, so—yes—the simplistic images of pescado, perro, y gato (fish, dog, cat) are for us adults trying to catch up to these fast Spanish-talking toddlers. My brain is foggy from frolicking in a tequila haze. (I only blacked out...

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...

Warning: (r)Aging Lady. Aches and Pains and Plaque. Damn It.

I’m laying face down, almost naked save for skimpy skivvies (that be slang for panties).Can you tell my ass isn’t balanced? I ask, lifting my head.Yep, this side is more developed, he confirms.Shit. I knew it. That’s not good for your neck. I put my face down. He continues.It’s not noticeable except that I’m touching it. He chuckles.The bedroom lighting is dim thanks to an adjustable light switch. I’m slathered in coconut oil. He can’t possibly see too much (I hope) while he kneads my gluteus maximus, which apparently is maxed out more on one side. This imbalance doesn’t bode well for OCD-me. I muffle this through the flannel sheet.It’s because of my damn hip injury way back whenever.He asks...

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...

Warning: This Post Contains Potenially Politically Incorrect Ethncity Discussion. (Oh My!)

posted in Elephantjournal

A peculiar quirk Americans have: watch-dogging political politeness. Total hypocrisy. I say Americans, as in U.S. inhabitants, because coming from a small, redneck town in Canada, I haven’t had the same experience around this topic. Here’s the polite repertoire of how I’ve heard ethnicity addressed where I’m from: white, black, Asian, East Indian, First Nations, European, Mexican and Newfie! (Newfoundlander! Our Easternmost Canadian province. For non-maple leaf readers.) Here are the actual, more common and still considered apropos terms used: White (though usually there’s no reason to utter the phrase ‘white,’ because it’s assumed, unless otherwise indicated—I live in a less diverse community ethnicity-wise); Black (we consider African-Americans¹ black dudes/dudettes from the U.S. even though Canada is technically part of...