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

And That’s How I Became A Phone Sex Operator. Almost.

My Terms and Conditions text reply …•Payment in advance•Paypal: mailto:findme@wingmam.com•US$500/hr; min 1hr fee charged•US$125/15 min after 1st hr •(65/70/75min=$625; 80/85/90min=$750)•By appt—24hrs; limited availability on weekends•If you call w/o an appt & I answer, time & 1/2•Text only to make appt•No personal questions about me •No naughty comments directed to me•No recordings•No photos•I don’t participate, but I will facilitate•(I can encourage or act innocent.) •No stories about animals, children, elderly, invalids, aliens!•No violence or gore•I can end a call at any time if I feel uncomfortable (one warning given)•I can end or modify this agreement at any time for any reason (credits refunded)•I can write about it if I choose •Any questions?So how did this intercourse, er, I mean text communication...

Facelifts and So Forth

What To Consider When Considering Cosmetic Surgery. Anxious and waiting—and possibly oozing beneath the mummified bandages—in the private clinic of a plastic surgeon's office spotlighted by fluorescent lights ... Me: The swelling isn't that bad. Marilyn: I don't know. I have no one to compare it to. I don't know anyone who's had a facelift done. Me: Oh, you do. You just don't know that you do. I've seen a few. This ain't bad, I promise. Marilyn: That's encouraging! The surgeon comes in, and I take a close look at him to see if he's had any "work" done, as if it might reflect on his ability. Of course it doesn't unless he's operating on himself, and that would really...

Flirting & Master Dater ShenANNAgins

How To Meet Single Men In Vancouver.. Or Not. A girl friend and I are strolling by a hole-in-the-brick-wall mysterious venue in Gastown when a tall, not unhandsome guy in retro military gear asks us, "Are you into fetish parties?" An army green 1940s BMW cafe racer with matching camo sidecar is parked beside this scene with an antique ambulance behind it. A blockbuster-movie-sized photo light is aimed at the MASH ensemble. (I find out later Camo Guy owns the props in this mini movie set.) I scan the crowd loitering in the drizzling mist outside of the nameless lounge and see similarly attired patrons, several in skin-exposing camo, military boots and brush cuts. The men are just as interesting....

And Then I Moved To Vancouver. I Think.

Episode One: The Silver FoxI flew over on Harbour Air. The water-landing five-seater delivered me from the harbour of my adulthood hometown to the harbour of downtown Vancouver. Forty minutes and 25 pounds of luggage, and I'm in the "big city."The intention was to stay at a girl friend's place while she is away to see if I like the city. Her place is near the Seawall—a pedestrian/bicycle path that meanders along the oceanfront and around Stanley Park—and within a few blocks of the hub of downtown Vancouver. Like!By the end of the first day, when asked where I live, I say, "I'm from Comox, but I'm thinking of moving here." By the end of the second day, it becomes...

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...

Let's Talk Razor Burn.

...Because Then She Shaved My Face...If you want a detailed list of the cosmetic procedures I've done to look baby-face fresh, you'll have to read my memoir. Or at least skip to that chapter. Oh wait, details are sprinkled throughout. In that case, feel free to skim-read—though, you would be missing out on plenty of shits and giggles-snorts. Just sayin' ... Just sayin'. Who else dislikes that saying? Riiight? (And that one.) And yet it slips out, not unlike a—I'll skip the innuendo because I'm a grown-up now. Though I can probably give myself one more year. I mean who ends adolescence at 44? OCDness alone begs another year (to make 45), but six is preferable (to round up to...

Two Words: Bionic. Vagina.

Taking Charge Of Urinary Incontinence aka Leaky Bladder.Before we get to female aging and bodily disfunctions...One: I apologize. I apologize for not writing for so long. I'm sorry. I'm Canadian so I'm always sorry. It's in our nature. And yes, I am grouping all Canadians into this friendly-nature-and-polite-apologizing generality. So sue me. (Um, if you're not a Canadian, we don't actually sue each other in Canada, it's only a joke. No, really, we're just not that into it.)Ttwo: You're welcome. I'm writing this after a glass of wine (Sonoma Pinot Noir) because I met a cute guy recently and foolishly gave him the link to this site. And even though he's too young for me, I did see chest hairs...

A Frank Conversation about Sexual Preferences: Anything Goes between Consenting Adults.

Boracay Beach, Philippines Blog Nine.We're at Nigis, and he's showing us risqué photos on his iPhone of the Lady-boys he's been with. Wait, let me "back up" a bit. (And forewarn My Little Mom about the adult content of this blog.) Earlier (like fifteen minutes ago) ... I'm at Nigis. Blue Eyes is here along with an array of expats and tourists. I meet the aforementioned lady-boy lover. We'll call him Frank, because he is. He's been in the Philippines since 2006. He's a consultant—for whom I don't know—for finding missing persons with a hotel and hospitality background. And now he lives here. In Boracay. (Not at Nigis, though he is a regular.) Then Kite Boarder—aka flutter, swoon,...

Filipino Massages—Not Always About the Happy Ending.

Boracay Beach, Philippines Blog EightBlue Eyes recommends Eden (real name), a masseuse who works near Nigi Nigi, a location which is extra convenient if one needs a nap before or after happy hour.My Boracay Beach massage experiences thus far:The TexterEden wasn’t available when I arrived—no appointment necessary—so I went with another masseuse who was. She’s young and uninterested. We go into the massage room that offers two massage tables—should one decide to get the two-person-massage deal. I strip down to my bathing suit and hop on the table. All is well, the massage is relaxing, probably because she is one-hand texting during most of it. I’m too tired to care so I semi-doze off. I’m “a nice Canadian,” so I...

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...

Vacation Sex: What Happens In Boracay Stays in Boracay (And in This Blog).

Boracay Beach, Philippines Blog Four. I'm at Nigi Nigi Nu Noos "e" Nu Nu Noos with Blue Eyes. Nigis is one of the popular local hangouts for ex-pats and "white" tourists who have left their homes and native lands to travel to this exotic destination rich in culture—if poor in conditions—only to coagulate with their own flock in a beach bar with hot wings and cheap beer on the menu and Cheap Trick on the radio. I sit at the bar drinking bottled water (as I'm not much of a drinker) and observe the crowd while Blue Eyes chats with the bartender, who plunks down another Blue Eyes "regular" (as he is more of a drinker).It's relatively early. There aren't...

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

Boracay Beach, Philippines 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...

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...

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...

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...

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