Barbara’s Gift

I don’t know if I’ve said enough about my friend Barbara.

She is the Carrie to my Samantha.

The Louise to my Thelma.

The Laverne to my Shirley.

Barbara always reminds me how special I am.

So over Christmas break, I opted to spend 50 hours of my life making her a quilt to show her how special she is to me.


It turned out HEAVENLY.

It’s a checkerboard pattern of nine patch squares and hourglass squares made from Tilda’s Bird Pond fabric.

It’s framed with a narrow border of off-white embossed fabric and then framed with a wide border of fabric by Elizabeths Studio called Hummingbird Bouquet.

The whole quilt is machine pieced, long arm quilted and hand bound.

I love it.

And I think Barbara does too:


I’m not going to lie.

There were a few tears (mostly Barbara’s) and a few declarations of undying friendship (mostly mine).

Couldn’t love this lady more.

Happy quilt, Barbara!

I love you!

Glorified Stickers

I just have to share.

Have you seen ads for “strapless bras” floating around Facebook and Instagram?

I sure have.

They have been LEAPING out at me.

As someone who likes to wear dresses with plunging necklines and dresses that are backless, I struggle with how to contain “the girls” properly.

Going braless is like setting 6-year old twins loose on a trampoline – they’re all over the place and someone eventually gets hurt.

Mind you, I’m dealing with a 38G bustline.

Which is NOTHING compared to my cousin, but that’s another blog post.

In any case, I’m always amused by these ads.

They typically include women with smallish busts, slapping on the self-adhesive bra, then pulling the laces between the “cups” together to create more cleavage.

I scoff.

But the other day, I saw a woman (I think she’s Ice-T’s wife Coco) with SIGNIFICANT CLEAVAGE advertising one of these bras and I had to watch.

Sure enough, she RAVED about the bra and how WONDERFUL it was at creating cleavage – but it was clear that she didn’t need any help with CLEAVAGE or LIFT as her breasts were LARGE and SYNTHETIC, not natural.

They sat up on her chest like perky little cupcakes.

That would NEVER work for me.

Because it’s not cleavage that I need, it’s LIFT.

Something more like this makes sense:

Needless to say, I didn’t buy one of those lace up bras.

I appreciate that they give a certain amount of coverage, but let’s face it – it’s nothing but a glorified sticker.


I went for coffee with an old high school friend, Sam.

And we had the BEST conversation.

I talked to him about Burning Man.

He talked about Landmark Forum, EST, etc.

It has been a long time since I had a good conversation like that, IRL.

And it got me thinking about connections.

It’s been REALLY challenging for me to connect with new people lately.

And that is 100% of the reason why I gave up internet dating.

Because I got tired of men telling me “we have no chemistry” when they themselves were spending no effort trying to connect.

How many times have you gone on a date that was word-for-word EXACTLY the same as a previous date:  names, hometown, jobs, kids, hobbies, etc.

If you want to connect with me, don’t tell me your stats.

Tell me a secret.

Nobody wants to connect to other people anymore.

Nobody wants to be vulnerable.

That’s why vulnerability is so disarming.

It’s unexpected.

And rare.

And that’s why I love Burning Man so much.

You may think of burners as a bunch of weirdos and freaks, but I know them to be caring, vulnerable, and extraordinary people.

Friends and lovers are people we’ve chosen to be vulnerable with.

That’s what makes the connection special.

I want to spend more time having real dialogues and waste less time having cookie-cutter conversations.

Sam has helped me to realize that connection is out there, you just need to look for it.

And in case you haven’t noticed, vulnerability is my forte.

Hence, this blog.

Glow in the dark

I have this friend.

We’ll call him Bob.

Bob is fiendishly obsessed with pornography.

I know this because he admitted to me that he masturbates close to ten times a day.

I didn’t know that was even POSSIBLE.

Seems like someone who can do that shouldn’t be a Senior Construction Engineer, but a porn star.

Clearly, the man has a talent.

Or an imbalance.

You be the judge.

Bob and I used to sext.

He gave good sext, I like to say.

He was graphic without being disgusting.

He used punctuation properly.

Nothing worse than a poorly typed sext message.

Yes, I am a grammar snob.

Bob liked to send dick pics, and lots of them.

And there was something remarkable about these pictures.

Bob’s UNIT virtually GLOWED IN THE DARK.

It was so well-polished from years of [ahem] use.

You may be wondering why I’m telling you all this and the answer is simple.

Yesterday, Bob called to tell me that he’s getting married.

That’s right.


Now, if a guy who masturbates 10 times a day (honestly, who has the time?) can meet a woman, fall in love, and get engaged, then there’s HOPE FOR ME!

And don’t you feel a little bit sorry for his bride-to-be?

I’ll bet he’s on her like white on rice!


My new dresses arrived in the mail.

I was eager to try them on, so I stripped and slipped into the first one.

Now something I DIDN’T notice when I bought the dress, but that I DID notice BEFORE it arrived is that it has a keyhole opening at the bust line.

Yes, indeed.

Now, I’m sure for someone less ENDOWED than me, this is NBD.

However, when you are a 38G, keyhole breast openings become something of a problem.

And this keyhole opening is no exception.

I called my sister.

“Check out this pretty new dress I got,” I said to her.

She took one look at the picture and swore that my dress was REALLY inappropriate for going to Florida with The Swede and his goalie daughter.

“Maybe if you were on vacation, just the two of you,” she explained.

“But since there’s a teenager involved and FAMILIES at the ice arena, you probably should rethink that dress,” she finished.

Now, normally I think showing my breasts is no big deal.

I’ve been known to show them off once or twice.


But it just didn’t sit right with me, walking around in a dress where I could potentially have a nip slip or something worse.

Granted, if I wore the dress I’d probably have my bathing suit under it, rendering it more G-rated.

But as it stands, R-rated dresses and 17 year old teenage goalies just don’t mix.

I returned the dress.

Fucking algorithms!

Facebook is irritating me right now.

You know how they use algorithms to promote ads in your Facebook stream?

Well, they’ve sorta got me right and they’ve sorta got me ALL WRONG.

You see, Facebook keeps showing me ads for beautiful bohemian sundresses.

Just my style.

I “oooh” and “aaah” over them and CLICK.

Then I’m taken to a website that offers their clothes in three sizes – S, M, and L

Size 2 – 10.

What’s a curvy girl to do, I ask?

It’s the MOST IRRITATING thing in the world, to see a beautiful dress only to realize it doesn’t come in your size.

WTF is Facebook showing me these links?

Has it not figured out yet that I am a thick chick?


If you really want to piss off a plus size woman what do you do?

You take her to a store where nothing fits and tell her to find something that works.

Facebook is SERIOUSLY losing points with me.

As if showing me all the men I’ve dated in the “You Might Know” section isn’t bad enough, now they’ve gone and fucked it up again.

Fucking algorithms!

Retail Therapy

After witnessing that road rage incident in Los Gatos, I went home and indulged in a little retail therapy.

Getting outfits for Florida AND letting off a little steam?

Just what I needed.

Believe it or not, I found a plethora of summer dresses on deep discount at Nordstrom Rack.

I bought a $200 Show Me Your Mumu dress for $40.

I also bought two other dresses at $30 a piece.

So I now have a total of 5 new dresses and I’m spending 7 days in Florida.


I did come across a dress with a tropical cocktail print that I would LOVE to wear on my vacation, however it is no longer available in my size.

I’m posting it here so you can look at it and sigh, along with me:

What I haven’t really worked out yet is my bathing suit situation.

Of course I have a new high waisted black bikini:

But we’ve already established that I’m not too keen on wearing my bikini.

So I MIGHT wear this cool one piece I have:

I love the lace up sides and strappy top.

Tejas assures me BOTH suits are appropriate, especially given the fact that I will be there with my favorite Swede.

Tejas believes that Europeans have a different view of the scantily clad human form.

All I am hoping is that The Swede likes MY form.

It’s Official!

Well, it’s official!

I fly into Florida on April 21st and I return to the Bay Area on the 28th.

In that week, I’ll get to hang out with The Swede and his goalie daughter.

As I’ve been perusing my closet, I’ve come across things I’m NOT going to wear in Florida.

A bikini, of any kind.

Not even high-waisted.

If MY kids roll their eyes when I’m wearing one, I should spare The Swede’s daughter the awkwardness.

A harness.

Ok, this is odd, but I did come across a harness I wore under a bathing suit to give it that dominatrix feel.

Not gonna need that in Florida.


The tan lines!

Another thing I’m not bringing with me?

Any kind of muumuu.

But I do have a rainbow colored kaftan which I love so I MIGHT have to break this rule.

But only because this is a special kaftan and it makes me happy to wear it.

Also, it takes up almost no space in my luggage.

And space is a consideration.

What I am going to bring?


And lots of it.

I’m going to BATHE in it three times a day.

This hat

I bought a hat worthy of a diva to shade me from the sun.

And finally, one thing I will be bringing on my trip to Florida. . .

. . .

Damn near the most perfect wedge sandal I’ve laid eyes on.

Perfect with every dress I bring.

The Toilet Dilemma

In my last camp at Burning Man, we had a dedicated porto potty for the camp to use.

This was INCREDIBLY convenient.

I loved not having to walk a few blocks to use the communal porto potties.

Those things get nasty SUPER FAST on the playa, while a private porto potty usually remains pretty clean and usable (i.e. women can sit on the seat without fear of contracting a deadly fecal disease).

So now I’m in a new camp and I’m researching porto potties to bring one into camp.

You may not know this – I didn’t – but you need one porto potty per day for every 30 people you have camping with you.

Exciting news, eh?

We have 40 people in our camp, so I’m guessing we can still get away with one porto potty so long as we get regular pump outs.

And by regular, I mean DAILY.

My dilemma is this: even if we do manage to get a porto potty in my new camp, I am wondering if I should still bring my little portable toilet:

It’s the size of a briefcase and fits nicely in my tent.

I simply HATE getting up in the middle of the night and braving the cold playa weather in my nightgown in order to use the loo.

I know, I know.

First world problems.

A porto potty AND a private toilet?

Aren’t I spoiled.

But on the playa, it’s the little luxuries that make the burn.

And a private toilet sure as hell beats even a CLEAN porto potty any day of the week.

Despite the fact that the toilet seals nicely so it can be carried to a porto potty and dumped, I’m worried about the smell.

No way I want my hot tent smelling of piss.

So perhaps I’ll bring the portable toilet, perhaps I won’t.

Maybe I’ll bring another tiny tent and it’ll be my changing room / bathroom.

Now, won’t that be elegant?



I have this friend.

We’ll call him Sam.

Sam was driving in San Francisco when he made, admittedly, a San Francisco merge.

The man driving behind him became so irate that he actually rammed Sam’s car with his own, then proceeded to back up into the car behind him before taking off dragging Sam (who had gotten out of his car) a distance down the road.

Sam managed to free himself when the car slowed down but required an ambulance ride to the hospital as well as medical assistance and rehab.

Sam recounted this story to me yesterday as we sat outside Philz Coffee in Los Gatos.

I was floored.

When we said our goodbyes, I wished him safe travels, images of road rage fresh in my mind.

I walked to my truck.

All of a sudden, from behind me, a car squealed out of a parking spot at a very rapid speed.

There was a man half in the passenger side window, his legs hanging out the window.

The driver suddenly stopped, then just as suddenly took off again, as if he was trying to shake the man from his car.

My adrenaline started pumping.

I pulled out my phone, to make a call to the police but instead I took a picture of the car:

I LITERALLY was shaking as I watched the trapped man extricate himself from the car before the car took off and drove away.

It was as if the words Sam and I spoke conjured up this road rage incident.

I IMMEDIATELY called Sam and told him what happened, my voice, hands, and whole body quaking.

It took me a good 10 minutes to calm down enough to drive.

The man who had been hanging out the car calmly walked to another car, got in, and drove off.

Was it a friendly prank?

A drug deal gone bad?

A failed car jacking?

Who knows?

All I know is that road rage is not worth risking the precious life of another human being.

Stay safe everyone.