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

Born-Again Virgin Seeks Semi-Chauvinist And Meaning Of Life. Or A Job. P.S. Vagina.

I'm at The Broken Spoke, an espresso-slash-bicycle shop. It reminds me of Deus Cafe in Venice, California, only Deus has pricey cafe racers and low quality coffee. The BS has affordable pedal bikes and rich, delish espresso. As a California-converted coffee snob, I now drive across town (seven minutes) for the best stuff: thick as molasses and smooth as Rihanna's clam. (I assume.) Speaking of vaginas—and, in my case, cobwebs—I went to my urologist the other day for more tests on my taco. Actually, they were bladder tests, but that's not nearly as fun to write, or say, aloud. Seriously, try it. "Bladder." "Taco." Or ... "Vagina!" Vagina: the funnest to say. The doctor is mid 30s and kind of...

Shit Happens. And Then Sometimes It Doesn't.

Well, darlings, even though I'm not scheduled to depart this La La Land of debauchery for another couple weeks, I'm already in the mindset of meandering north. Back "home." Where is home to a searching gypsy-hearted soul? Not only don't I have a nest of my own to go back to—despite desperately searching MLS listings for heritage homes (read: dilapidated fixer-uppers with vermiculite) offering quick possession—but also, in the two months since I left Canada, my sister and brother-in-law decided to sell their place—where I had been staying—and are moving before I even get back. I'm just not sure four adults, two foster kids and a dog can fit in a three-bedroom townhouse. I could live in my...

How to Build the Best Booty Everrr—Strap And Zap That Ass!

Boracay Beach, Philippines Blog Six.  In the change room, I remove all my clothing and under-gear and put on the men's size large, black shorts and t-shirt, which is not all that loose on me and clings to my pert nips.Back in the zapper room, he spritzes me all over with water and then he helps me into the black vest with wires hanging from it. He places stretchy wide bands on my biceps and upper thighs, and then a wider band around my butt that clasps in the front.Brace yourself, he tells me as he takes a lunge stance and then jerks the cinch straps around my chest and my mid- and lower-waist areas. I jolt forward nearly collapsing...

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...

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,...

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...

Vanity Insanity - Just to be Clear(-Skinned), I am Still Vane

There’s a dichotomy in me. I blame it on TV. Actually, more on TV commercials. And fashion/health/beauty/cosmetic-procedure(!) magazines. And Internet and mannequins in store windows—and my memories of all these things that are indelibly inked in my mind from years of subjecting myself to them. Silly-ass girl. (By the way, if/when you read my memoir, I would like to note that at that time I was in the midst of this image-oriented not-mid-life mess, which means there’s a lot of funny shit in that book I should be ashamed of except that I say never should on yourself or others. So I refuse to be ashamed, yet I cannot help but be slightly abashed for the overt ugliness of...

New Prescription: Pork and Port

Mermaid and I go on a road trip to the Ventura Flea Market and then to Ojai, both about a 90-minute drive north of Venice Beach. Being of the eco-friendly nature, she drives a hybrid. Being of the collecting treasures kind, said hybrid is already stacked with former flea market finds: fabrics, blankets, baskets, wall hangings, knickknacks, burlap bags, canvas, metal wheel frame, and so on.“Um, where are you going to put anything else?” I ask her.“Oh, the trunk is almost empty,” she replies.I ask her why she’s storing these treasures in the car. She tells me that she’s doing a show in early December, and it’s easier to leave them in the car than to haul them into the...

What’s Up Doc?—Certainly Not My pH! (Unease or Dis-ease)

May. After no holds barred à la boulangerie (French for “bakery”) in Paris whereupon I gained seven pounds in seven days despite excessive walking and ab workouts (coughing due to second-hand cigarette smoke), I’m sitting in my GP’s office with a point form list in my hand (my LMLotFM sits beside me: for comfort and as evidence). My list: Thermography and/or mammogram? (implants) Colonoscopy Lymphoma Kidneys Adrenals What did he [already] test my blood for? Tired—over a year! (at least since I became Vegan-demoted-to-Vegetarian) Swollen glands Bladder (cough/pee) Before he can finish his greeting, I’m out of the gate with, “I think I have lymphoma.” His brow furrows and he blinks several times and I wait for him to breathe...

Family Matters, Health Matters: Mind Over Matters?

April. I went to my Metaphysical/Intuitive/Aura-reading/Psychic Shrink (MIAPS). Well, I didn’t tell you the whole story … MIAPS, reading my cards: “Mmm … karmic debt.” Me, concerned: “What? What is it?” MIAPS, sighing compassionately: “You’re here for the summer for your family.” Me, sighing relieved: “Ooh.” We’re both thoughtful for a moment. Me, resigned: “Okay. Then it’s okay. I’ll stay.” I’d told her how I’d figured out a way to get back to California earlier (as in right this minute) than my previously scheduled fall return. I had planned on applying for an easy breezy education course—you know, the kind where they overcharge for slack services in exchange for looking the other way should one miss a couple classes not...

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