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!

Cuddle Puddle

cuddleI’m pretty sure my first experience in a cuddle puddle was at a HAI Level 1 retreat at Harbin Hot Springs.

There was a break in the activity and some of us opted to lay down on a pile of pillows.

Snuggling and cuddling just happened.

Try to imagine prickly, stuffy old me being invited into a cuddle puddle with a bunch of relaxed, down-to-earth people.

But I’ll try anything and so I did.

I laid down with virtual strangers and gave myself over to the experience.

And it was amazing.

Now I know it’s hard to picture me enjoying snuggling.

Everyone knows I’m an action girl and I scoff at snuggling (at least until after the main event).

But this appealed to me.

The smiling. The hand holding. The gentle touches. The bodies cuddled up to mine.

I was relaxed and enjoying myself.

Fast forward eight years and I’m at SoulFire in a cuddle puddle with two women and a man.

Same result.

Relaxing, snuggling, cuddling, soft sensation.

It was all too brief but satisfying.

So here I am looking at my inbox today and there’s a new invitation to a Santa Clara cuddle puddle.

Do I want to go?

Hell yes.

Then what’s stopping me?

Probably the fear that it won’t be my scene. That I won’t feel a connection to any of the people there.

Maybe I’m a little bit afraid of the person I might become if I finally let my hunger for intimacy out into the open without the post-coital justification there to mitigate it.

Maybe I’ll have to admit there’s more to intimacy than just sex.

And that I am woefully BAD AT IT.

Maybe…

 

Life Goes On

Sorry I went AWOL on my blog for a few days.

As it turns out, producing a weekend long campout in the mountains AND dealing with your son’s upcoming neurosurgery simultaneously has made it challenging to blog on a regular basis.

Rest assured I will make every attempt to keep up with the flow.

My son had a CT scan yesterday that took 4 hours.

Why did it take 4 hours?

Because the Radiologist had to be consulted to make sure the right test was run.

Something that COULD have been figured out AHEAD OF TIME, but at least they were cautious.

The CT scan was done for the sole purpose of seeing how much of my son’s skull is compromised by the dermoid cyst.

As I’ve said earlier, my son needs to have a portion of his skull taken out in order to fully remove the cyst so it won’t grow back.

I appreciate that the doctors are insistent that we run all the necessary tests so that they know what they’re dealing with BEFORE they cut.

So there you have it in a nutshell.

The latest and greatest in my life.

Oh, and today is my oldest son’s 19th birthday!

So there will some celebrating despite the stress I’m under.

Life goes on.

And so will this blog.

Update on my son

Here’s the latest on my son.

He has what appears to be a benign dermoid cyst, a saclike growth present at birth.

No big deal.

The problem with his cyst is that it’s compromising his skull.

Meaning a portion of his skull will need to be removed with the cyst by a neurosurgeon.

According to the pediatric surgeon, this is a challenging surgery because

  • The cyst is on the back of his head which means he has to be operated on facing down, always considered a riskier surgery.
  • It’s also considered a high blood loss surgery (so family and friends may need to donate blood for him).
  • There’s always the risk of infection (gah!).

I am personally more than a little freaked out about this.

I looked up dermoid cyst on the internet and found out it’s a type of teratoma (a tumor made up of several different types of tissue).

A sacrococcogeal teratoma is exactly what caused the death of my son Douglas way back in 1998.

I don’t think I need to explain the fear that is coursing through my body right now at the thought of another teratoma threatening the well being of my child.

If you are the religious sort, please say a prayer for my son.

And if you are not religious, please send good energy and positive thoughts our way.

We’re doing better but we’re not out of the woods yet.

Diapers to drink

When I was in college at UCSB, we drank Keystone Light at parties.

It was our go-to beer for the college crowd – cheap, cheap, and cheap.

Fast forward 30 years, and I wouldn’t dare drink a Keystone Light.

I’d rather shave my head with a cheese grater while chewing on tinfoil.

I’m all about craft beer, as evidenced by my membership in the Southbay Beerhounds – an unpretentious haunted house of eccentrics who love beer, dogs, and other oddities.

Yes, sir.

Just like there are wine snobs, there are also beer snobs, and I’m one of them.

My oldest son has now joined the ranks of the college crowd and you know what their favorite drink is?

Coors.

It kills me that he drinks Coors and the other day my sister and I were chatting about my son’s wayward taste in beer.

She too scoffs at Coors.

According to her, it’s a waste of time and alcohol to drink Coors because you have to pee all the time.

The alcohol goes straight through you.

We’re not even sure you can get drunk of Coors.

One thing is for sure, if you’re going to drink Coors, you’ll need diapers to drink.

New Baby Smell

When I was in Sweden this year, I met a couple expecting their second baby.

They hosted The Swede and I over the New Year’s holiday.

We played Monopoly in Swedish and The Swede declared that I lost because I tapped out and sold all my properties at below cost value to his competitors.

The Swede won anyway.

And he declared me to be a cheater.

I’m sure if you asked him now he’d still say I cheated.

But I digress. . .

The other day, a picture flashed across my Facebook page of a beautiful newborn baby girl.

With the Swede.

Now, I don’t know about you but there is something very sexy about a man holding a baby.

It actually makes my ovaries shudder in the same way that my ovaries shudder when I see a fireman.

If my ovaries had a voice I’m sure they’d be screaming, “IMPREGNATE ME NOW!”

But as far as the baby goes, I can just imagine the fragrance wafting off her soft, peach fuzz head.

And just the thought makes me giddy.

There’s just something about that new baby smell that makes women want to self-impregnate so that they too can have a reliable source of it.

New baby smell = the middle aged woman’s crack.

Still lusting after the good ones

I have roughly 500 friends on Facebook.

Yesterday, as an experiment, I counted how many of my Facebook friends were ex-lovers.

Out of 500, there were 18.

18 ex-lovers – 16 men and 2 women.

Hey, I had an experimental phase.

No current lovers, mind you.

As I was making my way through the list of friends, I had to do a double take a few times and ask myself, “Did we sleep together?”

Sometimes the answer was “No, we just OMed.”

There are nearly 50 men on Facebook who I OMed with.

Other times, the answer was, “No, we just fooled around a bit but no sex.”

Like with my friend “Nathan” who I used to watch porn with and let him grope me.

And even still, the answer was occasionally, “No, but I REALLY wanted to.”

And there are SEVERAL men who fall into that category.

If I counted all the people who I’ve had some sort of sexual activity with, I’m sure my number would jump in leaps and bounds.

Truthfully, I was surprised there were that many ex-lovers on my Facebook page.

Historically, I’m not the best at keeping in touch with past partners.

I guess Facebook is heralding in the age of long term friendships with exes.

I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

It’s actually quite nice to see them doing well and having a good time.

And of course, still lusting after the good ones!

Boob Massage

I can PRACTICALLY hear my friend Barbara’s response to this blog post in my head ALREADY.

She’d tell me to stop wearing bras that don’t fit and get myself some decent support bras.

The problem is, I’ve tried those support bras.

And overall, they’re very comfortable.

But there’s SO MUCH FABRIC you can barely see my cleavage.

And that’s JUST WRONG.

Also, sometimes the underwire sticks me in my armpit and that just HURTS!

But I’m going to write this anyway.

Today, I need to boob massage.

Yes, that’s right.

A BOOB MASSAGE.

Why, you ask?

Because my boobs hurt.

I wore a tiny halter bra today all day at work and between the back of my neck which was rubbed raw by the strap and my boobs, which I crammed into cups WAY TOO SMALL FOR THEM, my boobs just ache.

I confess, I took my bra off at work, I was in such agony.

Now, all I can think about is how nice it would be to get some coconut oil and a friendly pair of hands to gently massage them.

That is all.

Crash and burn

So, as it turns out, I DID NOT GO HIKING LAST WEEK.

No.

Instead I got stood up.

Irony is, I’m not entirely sure I didn’t deserve to be stood up.

I wrote a post titled “PUSSY” about a man who could only whisper the word pussy out loud and I titled it (naturally) Pussy, not in reference to him but in reference to the word he could barely say.

Well, I think he took it the wrong way.

And honestly, who can blame him?

Sometimes I can be truly dense.

If the tables had been turned, I’m sure I would’ve been outraged.

He stayed calm and cool but he sure as hell didn’t go for a hike with me.

And after all the drama that ensued, I’m afraid we created too big a barrier for our newfound friendship to withstand.

Oh sure, he’s my friend on Facebook, but I don’t expect to be seeing him anytime soon.

I’d apologize to him for my lack of sensitivity, but I made a promise to myself to leave him alone and I’m keeping that promise.

In any case, I’m left once again with no partner to go hiking with.

No one to exercise with.

Sad face.

I really was looking forward to working out, even if I was grumbling about it.

I don’t like doing things I’m not instantly good at and it’s a steep learning curve to get in shape when you haven’t exercised in years.

All this time I’ve been railing against the men I meet, criticizing them for being rude, boring or alcoholic and here I am a perfect specimen of a ball-buster.

Sometimes, I’m a bitch.

Eliza Doolittle

I have a deep affection for My Fair Lady.

It comes from years of watching the movie with my parents while I was growing up.

My Fair Lady and The Sound of Music.

My parents were big on musicals.

So you can imagine my excitement to discover that My Fair Lady was playing on TV the other day.

I immediately sat down to watch it.

And wouldn’t you know it, my appreciation of it was only amplified by its absence in my life for the last four decades.

Yes, indeed.

I had a newfound appreciation for it, looking upon it with my new, wiser eyes and mature mind.

Take the Ascot scene.

I had forgotten that each woman who was dressed up for that scene was a work of art.

The dresses.

The hats.

The monochromatic color scheme.

And the lyrics?

I never realized that they were so tongue-in-cheek growing up.

My adult ears heard the lyrics about the attendees getting “excited” and “keyed up” whilst they outwardly exhibit absolutely no passion at all.

More than ever, I am convinced that I need to create a My Fair Lady Ascot outfit for cosplay.

I love it more than anything and have done research on it.

I’ve ALREADY been working on it!

Of course, if I can think it, then it’s already been done, as evidenced by this My Fair Lady inspired wedding.

I may not be the first one to the party, but I’m sure going to KILL IT when I arrive.

Á la Eliza Doolittle!