Manscaping

We spend a lot of time discussing women’s hygiene and personal habits.

We seldom talk about men.

It strikes me that there is a BIG double standard (duh) between hygiene habits of women and hygiene habits of men.

I’ve never heard a man worry about how he smells or tastes down there.

And let me tell you, I’ve been with a few FUNKY men.

Why don’t men worry more?

They should (see above statement about funky men).

I knew a German who believed in “taking it all off.”

Everything was so nice and smooth and clean.

I have a picture of him in naught more than a parted bathrobe that literally freezes every woman in her tracks when I show it to them.

Of course there was also Charlie The Aussie who (when I suggested manscaping to him) promptly shut me down by saying, “I’m Australian. We don’t MANSCAPE.”

There must be a happy medium.

Some way a guy can take care of business but not so much that he starts to resemble something under 13 years old.

Would it kill a guy to TRIM?

Do a little weed whacking south of the border?

And, you know, wash thoroughly in the shower every time?

Perhaps shake it one or two EXTRA times till the last drop falls off?

I know it sounds crazy but I’m not a big fan of funk.

And the truth is, men could take a page out of the woman’s playbook and spend a little more time manscaping.

There’s always the EXTRA OPTICAL INCH to be gained!

Allergic to Hawaii

“Wake up!  You need to take your son to urgent care!”

That’s what I woke up to my first day in Hawaii.

“It looks like he has pink eye!”

My sister is a nurse, and when she declares something health-related, I listen.

But where is there Urgent Care on the island of O’ahu?

I quickly do a search on my phone, make a call, and load up Gavin in my rental car for inspection at Urgent Care.

I look at myself in the rear view mirror and discover something surprising. . .

My eye is swollen too!

A lot!

Aren’t we a pair.

So we go to Urgent Care and wait for it to open, busying ourselves with iced coffee we bought at a nearby coffee stand.

Then Gavin points it out.

Closed on Sundays.

And (of course) it’s Sunday.

Gah!

So I take a GOOD LONG LOOK AT GAVIN’S EYEBALL.

The lid is red, but the eyeball is nice and normal.

Probably NOT pink eye.

“What do you say we give it a day and see what happens?” I ask him.

He agrees, but will my sister.

Luckily Lisa agreed too, but asked for us both to pick up and take some Benadryl.

So we did.

And wouldn’t you know it. . . like magic, our swollen eyes took a chill pill and started to relax and look normal.

I believe it was my birthfather who upon seeing our swollen eye picture on Facebook coined the phrase, “YOU’RE ALLERGIC TO HAWAII!”

And indeed, it appeared that we were.

And then I peed my pants

Elton JohnThe first thing you need to know about my trip to Tahoe to see Elton John is that I am in my early 40s. And although I didn’t realize it at the time I was buying the tickets, that makes me a little young for Elton’s demographic.

When I pointed this out to my sister, the man sitting in front of us said, “I heard that,” and gave us a scowl.

The second thing you need to know is that even BEFORE WE HAD DINNER at a nearby restaurant, my sister and I polished off a fifth of vodka. Yum yum! Thank you very much. We had a nice buzz going which is why we had two glasses of wine each with dinner.

Yeah, I know. You can see where this is headed already.

So we had dinner and drinks and then called a cab to take us to Harvey’s to see Elton John.

My sister had ordered two stadium seats for this event specifically and she told me, “Make sure we don’t forget them.”

Yes, I’m sure you can see where this is going.

While we each drank 4 Lagunitas Sumpin Sumpin beers, Elton John performed:

  • Bitch (which Lisa and I agreed was Gavin’s theme song)
  • Benny and the Jets
  • Goodbye Norman Jean
  • All the Young Girls
  • Levon
  • Tiny Dancer
  • Love
  • Daniel
  • Philadelphia Freedom
  • Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
  • Rocket Man
  • I Guess That’s why They Call it the Blues

And then I got too drunk to actually write anything else down that makes an iota of sense to me now.

But THE BEST PART was how Lisa and I got home.

We actually were so drunk and turned around we couldn’t find our hotel a mere 4 blocks away so we HOPPED INTO A PRIVATE CAR WITH A COMPLETE STRANGER and my sister paid him $40 to drive us 4 blocks to our hotel.

BUT THERE’S MORE…. I had to go to the bathroom so bad, I peed a little in my pants when we were in his car.

Yup.

I peed my pants.

Nice, eh?

What a night!

When you drink with your sister

Start with a mini bottle of Champagne Pink Pop. Pick it out because it’s in a pink bottle and you think it’s pink. Discover it’s not pink and be disappointed. Try champagne and be even more disappointed. Add orange juice to make it drinkable.

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Try OREgasmic Ale by Rogue Farms, because it’s supposed to be OREgasmic. Discover OREgasmic beer tastes like dirty feet and pot ash. Definitely not orgasmic. Be disappointed.

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Try cheap stacked wine which comes in its own glass. Have low expectations. Have low expectations met. Feel foolish for trying wine which comes with a pull off lid.

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Try Blood Orange Mimosa. Suspect it’s a headache in a bottle with a screw top lid, but love it anyway.  Make your sister drink most of it after dosing it with vodka.

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Graduate to bonafide liquor – making really strong mai tai and screwdriver. Decide to hop in the hot tub naked. Have to hang foot out of hot tub because of new foot tattoo (which effing HURTS). Have sister yell at you when you accidentally dip it in the water. Feel sheepish. Snap selfie anyway.

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UPDATE:  Get RAGING cellulitis (skin infection) from dipping foot in hot tub.  Deal with your sister’s “I-told-you-so’s.”  On antibiotics.  Feel even more sheepish.

Honesty

MichelleSo, I’m on a new dating website – SLS.

The emphasis is more on hooking up and less on making that “ONE MAGICAL” connection.

And so far, I kinda like it.

It’s like Tinder, but with less subterfuge.

Less subterfuge than TINDER???

Is this even possible?

Of course.

One man instantly asked me if he could come over the next morning to fuck.

Clearly, he does not understand the safety precautions a middle aged, sexually-active woman needs to take to keep herself safe from harm in 2018.

But this man is the exception to the rule.

Most of the men I meet online through SLS are thoughtful, well-written, and funny.

In fact, I daresay I’ve met a better quality of men on SLS than I ever met on POF or Match.

Educated.

Employed.

Respectful.

Sure there was the one eager beaver I encountered.

There was also a guy who proposed we go out into the wilderness to fool around.

Again, safety issues come to mind.

I don’t want my bones found by hunters 30 years from now on a hillside because I walked into a forest with the wrong man.

Not fucking likely to do that!

But then there are a host of single guys just looking for company.

Yes, their expectation is that eventually it will become adult company.

But I’m okay with that.

How is that any different than what I’ve got going on anyway?

At least this is honest.

 

 

 

I’m a blogger

I’m a blogger.

My life appears on the internet for other people to read and absorb.

I write because I have a bad memory and a diary is the best way for me to keep track of what happens in my life.

I put it on the internet because I’m trying to connect with other people, even if it’s just through a story.

I think there’s wisdom that can be gleaned between the lines of my life, if not by me then by someone else.

Everybody I write about, I fall in love with.

They represent a character in my life and whether temporary or permanent, they always play a part in my development.

Some people I clearly adore: my children, my family, The Swede, Tejas, Barbara, Michelle, Marina, and so many more.

Other people pop in and out, like Coke Can Dan, Jack and Jill, and The Photographer.

Rest assured they’ve all captured a place in my heart.

There is little I enjoy more than writing about a friend, new or old, who has captured my attention.

I never do them justice.

Personalities are far too rich and nuanced for me to capture in my simple writing.

But I try.

And honestly, nothing is better than reading old posts and being reminded of old friends I haven’t seen in a while so I pick up the phone and call.

I hope they know how much I love them.

Lube

I often forget about lube.

Which is ironic considering every time I use it, I think, “Oh! This is definitely enhancing my pleasure!”

So why I CONSTANTLY forget about it, I will never know.

I have bottles of it stashed everywhere.

In my Burning Man toiletries tote.

In my purse.

In my bedroom drawer right next to the bed.

The other day, I had a not so subtle reminder of why it’s important to use lube.

I was having fun, getting down, when my partner SPIT on me.

Indeed.

He spit on me.

Not just once, but twice.

Spit will do the job, however it’s filled with enzymes and bacteria that probably don’t belong in a woman’s vagina.

Fast forward 24 hours and I’ve got a RAGING yeast infection.

Maybe some women can handle copious amounts of saliva on their nethers, but NOT ME.

I can absolutely VOUCH for that now, as I sit here in complete and total discomfort, waiting for the moment when I can get home and get to a tube of anti-fungal cream.

Monistat, you have my heart.

Military Magnet

I have been back online for less than a week and already my inbox is flush with emails.

Ironically, I seem to be meeting a lot of military men.

Men who work in security.

First responders and police officers.

These men are pretty straight and narrow – no drugs (good) and no alcohol (how do they do it?).

It’s ironic isn’t it, that I seem to attract men who are quite the opposite of myself.

I’m a rather creative type.

Always working on a new costume, writing a blog post, or off living an adventure.

For goodness sake, I attend Burning Man, an experimental temporary community in the Nevada desert filled with alternative art, music and entertainment.

I can’t complain too much, though.

I find the discipline that these men exhibit very attractive.

For a flighty type like myself, I benefit from being paired with someone who is a rock and can help me tether myself to the ground while still enjoying my creative tendencies.

I can’t help but wonder though if my passions, creativity and lack of structure will ultimately prove incompatible with a disciplined lifestyle.

Or perhaps if we might fill a mutual void in each other’s lives and balance ourselves out.

Opposites attract, they say.

Liberal Lumberjack

One of the reasons I like Coke Can Dan so much apart from his obvious talent, is that he is a liberal lumberjack.

You all know I like lumberjacks.

And lumberjacks are easy to come by.

But liberal lumberacks?

Not so easy.

Gun-toting, Trump-supporting, conservative lumberjacks are a dime a dozen.

I could go through them as fast as I go through Kleenex during a head cold.

Case in point – I met a man online who looked quite good on paper.

Educated?

Check.

Employed?

Check.

Interested in a relationship?

Check.

But then I took a closer look at his profile pics.

And he is standing at a gun range, reloading a gun, wearing a “Make America Great Again” hat.

Sigh.

This is what pushes me off internet dating in the first place.

My tendency to meet men who are totally and completely inappropriate for me.

Could I ever date a Trump supporter?

Not likely.

There are fundamental things I believe in like basic human rights, the environment, health care, women’s rights, and a foreign policy that doesn’t involve being the pawn of Russia which I consider incompatible with the Trump platform.

I could listen to Coke Can Dan talk about his dislike of Trump FOR HOURS.

Or wax poetic on how important it is to protect our environment.

So of course when I’m online looking at profiles, I’m trying to find someone like Coke Can Dan.

A liberal lumberjack.

An open-minded hipster.

Anything.

Just so long as he hates Donald Trump, the minority-elected president of this great nation.

Coke Can Dan

Coke Can Dan is a real man.

A man with “unusual” attributes.

You see, Coke Can Dan has a cock the size of, ahem, a COKE CAN.

Hence the name.

My girlfriends whispered about Coke Can Dan in hushed circles at parties, each vouching for not just his length and girth, but also his skill and prowess in the bedroom.

Now.

I’m not one to be swayed by LARGE appendages.

I’m perfectly happy with the average ones.

But then, I met Coke Can Dan.

Oh, perhaps he isn’t THE Coke Can Dan, but he’s certainly A “Coke Can Dan Man”.

And let me tell you this.

That appendage is the least of his talents.

Apart from looking like he should star in porn films, “Coke Can Dan” is a lovely sort of fellow.

The kind you want to go camping with.

The kind who makes you feel special and beautiful.

He’s the kind of guy you’d call if you got a flat tire and needed help from a friendly face.

I’m not one to talk about male endowment in hushed whispers in corners of dark rooms.

You know me, I’m going to put it on this blog and tell the world.

I can’t stop looking at coke cans and smiling!