Please stop eating BEFORE you hate yourself.
And have a very HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
From my little family to yours.
“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!
Aren’t we a pair.
Then Gavin points it out.
Closed on Sundays.
And (of course) it’s Sunday.
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.
The 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:
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.
I peed my pants.
What a night!
This weighed heavily on our minds as my sister and I surveyed our table filled with sushi. We were stuffed to the gills and were trying to figure out how to make 20 extra pieces of sushi disappear.
Oh my god, could we do it?!
Being the honest sibling, I just started eating sushi… doing my best to just chew and swallow and not think about how full I already was.
But Lisa, being a little more clever and deceptive, opted to take a different approach.
SHE SHOVED THE SUSHI INTO HER CLEAVAGE!
The waitress came by to check on our progress. I noticed sushi peeking out of my sister’s cleavage. As the waitress spoke to us, Lisa’s eyes were getting bigger and bigger. The waitress left.
“What’s wrong,” I asked.
“Listen, we’ve got to get out of here so I can get rid of this sushi. The wasabi is BURNING MY BOOBS!”
I’m not sure why, but unusual things happen to me that don’t happen to other people.
Granted, I have difficulty saying no and creating boundaries, so that could have something to do with what happened.
I was interested in testing out a “ride” at a festival.
A vibrating ride.
I assumed I’d ride on it fully clothed and enjoy the tickle.
I was told to take off my pants and climb on.
So I did.
No, I had to take off my underwear too.
Okay. . .
I was intrigued.
So I removed my panties and climbed on.
I was shown how to use the vibrator – how to change the speed and the depth of the vibrator.
I thought it was kind of interesting that the operator stayed in the tent with me while I was on the ride.
He proceeded to rub lube on my butt and spank me.
Okay. . .
I had asked for spankings, so I wasn’t too surprised.
But then he started really stroking me and before I knew it, I was shocked.
As in THE SHOCKER.
Yes indeed, there’s no other way to describe it other than to tell it like it is.
I got shocked by operator.
Now, you have to imagine that I was already a bit sore from hanging out with Coke Can Dan.
So this just sort of added to the discomfort I was feeling.
Lesson learned: No more pantsless amusement rides for me!
So I’ve got this BRILLIANT idea for my birthday party.
It’s on November 2nd, when the Freddie Mercury biopic movie called Bohemian Rhapsody comes out.
And I’m thinking that’s the PERFECT reason to have an 80s party – starting with the movie and ending at a dance club.
I mean, when I was asked what person I’d most want to spend a day with at Burning Man, my answer was Freddy Mercury.
And the person, living or dead, I’d most like to see in concert?
I just love Freddie Mercury.
Can you tell?
So, it goes without saying that I will DRESS UP LIKE FREDDIE MERCURY.
There are so many outfits out there to choose from but the one I like the most has a yellow jacket and striped white track pants.
Oh, be still my heart!
How much I can’t wait to cross dress as Freddie Mercury!
The only thing I’m sort of neglecting to mention is that my birthday isn’t for another 5 months.
So I’m A BIT ahead of schedule.
Even for me!
I think that the sexiest scent out there is dirty man.
You know what I’m talking about ladies. . .
. . . that smell a man gets when he’s been working and his deodorant has been stretched to it’s limit?
Yeah, that’s the smell I’m talking about.
Man, pure and simple.
Well, I’ve discovered another scent which I find ALMOST as attractive.
Yes, that smell your clothes get when you’ve been sitting around the campfire chatting with your family and friends.
You don’t really smell it at the time but when you go to wash your clothes later and you catch a whiff of that burned wood and smoke scent, you have to bury your face in your dirty sweatshirt and BREATHE DEEPLY.
That’s what I’m talking about.
And now, according to Etsy, I can buy campfire scented candles and wax tarts to scent my bedroom JUST LIKE A CAMPFIRE.
Now all I need is the borderline stinky man to enjoy the campfire with, eh?
After the snuggle/hair pulling sesh a week ago, I came up with the AWESOME idea of finding another man to do this to me:
Snuggle (clothes on) and pull my hair.
So I posted a rather cryptic message on FB, figuring I should farm my friends for this kind of activity instead of new (dating) prospects.
And what I got was a ground swelling of men willing to do exactly that.
Snuggle and pull my hair.
One guy asked if I wanted to be pulled around the room BY MY HAIR.
Another guy asked me out on a date.
And yet another (non single yet curious) guy tried to figure out how to make this happen for me.
One particularly randy gentleman asked if he could massage my breasts too.
No, it’s just snuggling and hair pulling.
Clothes never come off.
And then it occurred to me that some of these men might be safe (aka respectful of my vow of celibacy) to do this with and others are TOTALLY NOT SAFE.
In fact, this BRILLIANT idea I had turns out to be NO SO BRILLIANT.
But I put it out there in the universe and the universe responded with abundance.
Just for shits and giggles I should ask for back scratches too.
Cuz those are THE BOMB.
While my sister was visiting, we had the brilliant idea of making margaritas at home. I decided if we were having margaritas, we also needed to do shots and so I insisted we pick up a bottle of Patron to do shots with.
Now the thing you need to know about my sister and I growing up, is that she was the naughty one but I always got in trouble. Somehow she always managed to skate free. I claim that this is because I used to cover for her. She claims she didn’t get in trouble because she was not naughty. LIAR!
In any case, Lisa and I were about one deep in margaritas and two deep into shots when my sister asked me for another shot.
Sure thing. Coming right up.
As I’m pouring it, my mom comes into the kitchen, looks at me and the tequila, and says, “Really Michelle? Another one?” and walks out.
I’m left standing there feeling reprimanded and indignant.
I follow her.
“Just so you know, it’s for Lisa,” I tell her.
Yes, I was a tattletale.
But I felt a whole lot better and my inner child rejoiced for not being labeled the naughty one.
Just the enabler.
[What I did after 2 shots of tequila and 2 margaritas is a different post]
I’m fucking learning Swedish (Svenska) and there’s a lot I have to say about it.
First of all, I love that the Swedish word for ‘two’ sounds like the American version of ‘two’ said with a lisp.
Imagine the priest from Princess Bride:
“Twoo wuv is what bwings us twogether twoday.”
Overall, the experience of learning Swedish is a little like shaving my head with a cheese grater while chewing on tinfoil.
It’s a little bit uncomfortable.
I am learning everything phonetically. Which means I speak a few words but I can’t write them.
An example: the Swedish word for ‘delicious’ is ‘oot sect.”
That’s what it sounds like.
How is it spelled?
I have no clue.
I looked it up for the purposes of putting it on this post.
Now, as impressed as I am with myself for learning a handful of Swedish words, it’s not all that great when it comes to texting and I’m spelling everything phonetically to The Swede.
So I try to keep my Swedish simple when I text him.
God morgon (good morning).
God natt (good night).
Tack så mycket (thank you very much).
I’m impressed that I’ve learning any words given my memory problems and my lack of understanding of Germanic languages.
I hope it gets easier as I go.
One thing is for sure – I can’t just learn to SAY Swedish. I’ve got to learn to WRITE it as well.
Just in case I ever visit Sverige (aka Sweden).
But hold cow, can you believe it. . . I’m learning Svenska!