Red Hot Mama

I’ve had this idea.

But it’s a little morbid so bear with me.

For my funeral, instead of hosting a funeral I want my family to host a party.

Because that’s the best way I can think of celebrating my life.

With a final red-themed party.

I want them to send out red invitations in red envelopes  to Michelle’s Red Hot Mama party.

However old I am when I pass.

We’re gonna call it a Red Hot Mama party and it’ll take place at Burning Man where they can take my pictures to the temple and celebrate my life.

The way I would.

With song and dance.

Food and drink.

And I’m writing it here, just because I need to write it SOMEWHERE that I want my kids to be there.

Yes, at Burning Man.

My final gift to them.

A trip to the Black Rock Desert during August and September to celebrate their mom’s life in the place that meant the most to me.

Nice, eh?

Getting caked

partyIf you told me I’d be driving myself home tonight, my hair caked with vanilla buttercream icing, I would’ve thought you were crazy.

But you’d be spot on. Because I did just drive myself home, with a head full of cake.

It was my fault, I suppose. In the process of cutting the celebratory cake at a party, my eye was drawn to a pile of icing on the plate. A big pile of white icing.

My mind immediately thought, ‘That’s a perfect pile of icing to smear on someone….”

But I resisted the temptation. Until Angelica encouraged me to express my inner desires. And that when I got mischevious.

I scooped up a big pile and walked over to John-John. I intended to nicely smear the tip of his nose – easy clean up, you know.

But when he saw me coming, he ducked out of the way. So I turned to my left and saw Frank standing there all nice and clean and unsuspecting. So I swiped a forefinger of icing across his cheek. He laughed.

And that’s when it hit me. A fistful of cake from John-John right on the top of my head. Low blow – creaming a girl in the hair. There’s just no easy clean up for that. So I turned, aimed, and launched a glob of icing though the air which landed right in his hippie ponytail.

Then it was WAR! After a few volleys of icing, the war was over. John-John retreated to repair my sunglasses which had broken in the scuffle (ironic he felt bad about the glasses but not mucking up my beautiful hair!).

Later, when John-John was talking to friends with his hands stuffed in his pants, I walked up and swipe a streak of icing across his cheek and licked my finger.

“Oh. I’m sorry, but I only got your cheek. Let me get you a napkin.”

I fetched a napkin, which just happened to be right next to the cake, and grabbing a second fingerful of icing, I walked back to John-John, offered him the napkin, then swiped his other cheek with icing.

The good news: I now know where my boys get their impishneess from.

The bad news: I could taste John-John on my finger when I licked it.


I’m a man-eating whore (just kidding)

I’m a man-eating whore.

At least I MUST be since I write this blog about sex, dating, and relationships.

Okay, maybe I don’t write about relationships. But trust me, if I had a relationship, I would be writing about it.

Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy being single.  Every available (unmarried and unattached) man I meet is an opportunity to make a connection.

But there are times when being the single girl sucks.

Like when a married woman assumes if you’re talking to her husband you’ve got designs on him.

Or when you’re the only single at a couples party (á la Bridget Jones).

Or. . .

. . .when the wife of a friend CONTACTS YOUR SISTER to accuse you of trying to steal her husband because. . .

. . .wait for it. . .

. . .you replied to his IM on Facebook.


So there you have it.

This man-eating whore with the trashy blog is obviously so lacking in morals she would message A MARRIED MAN.

Better put a scarlet letter on me. Or maybe stamp “tramp” on my forehead.

Obviously, I’ve committed a grievous offense.

You know what I have to say about it?



Paying bills and growing fingernails


Well, it’s not that I have NOTHING to write about, it’s that NOTHING I feel like writing about is WORTHY of putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard).

Like who wants to know that my nearly 19 year old son is asking me to buy him a $35,000 sports car to “motivate” him to go to school and get a job?


If someone fucking bought me a $35,000 car, WHY ON EARTH would I work or go to school?!

Nevermind that I have YET to own a car worth that much.

AND. . .

I knocked the fingernail off my little pinky finger on my left hand and am ECSTATIC to discover that it’s growing back!


I did it while sleeping on Tejas’ couch when I caught it on a seam and ripped it off.

Who knew sleeping could be dangerous?

And then DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED on how freaked out I am about my mom’s heart condition.

She gets winded all the time and has to sit down but continues to chase after her two little grandsons like it’s the best thing in the world for her.


And of course, there’s the fact that now I am suddenly responsible for all the cooking, cleaning, laundry, food shopping, etc. for a household of 5 people!

I BARELY have time to relax before it’s bedtime.

I start falling asleep at 8 pm.

So that’s my life in a nutshell

No outrageous sex.

No fun parties (although there is a 40th birthday party and the Pagan Bunny Burn coming up).

No cool costume building.

Just paying bills and growing fingernails.

That’s all that’s going on here.

The diet, thus far

So you want to know how the diet is going?

It’s going.

Truth be told, I’m on a rather bland, mostly liquid, limited diet right now.

I miss flavor. Sauces.

God, I miss chewing!

I’m worried that I will not be successful on this diet on account of it’s so fricking BORING I feel like I’m jonesing for something tasty to eat.

A donut.

Garlic bread.

Macaroni and cheese.

I’d even be happy with a frozen pizza right now.

The trouble is, I’m pre-diabetic.


My health is at stake.

So I’ve somehow got to find the willpower to stick with the plan.

Originally, I was worried that giving up booze was going to be the hardest thing for me.

Now however, having been on the plan for two days, I must say booze is the LEAST of my worries.

And I was naïve to think that it would be.

By far the biggest impact to my daily diet isn’t the elimination of booze but the elimination of FLAVOR.

And that’s not easy to give up.

Not at all.

White Cloud

michelleSo I had an assignment from my Life Coach to write an I Am statement and basically describe myself as clearly as possible. So I wrote it.

It contained some good stuff, but it also contained things like bitch, irresponsible, and snobby.

As a comparison, I asked my friends and family to use words to describe me in a post on Facebook and I got a flush of responses.

All beautiful, poignant words that I would LOVE to describe myself as.

Words like white cloud, adventurous, strong, loving, gentle, kind, and empowered. For the whole list, see below:

  • Goddess
  • Generous
  • Creative
  • White Cloud
  • Gorgeous
  • Lovely
  • Sweet
  • Michelle
  • Vivacious
  • Sexy
  • Embodied
  • Secure
  • Self-assured
  • Seductive
  • Sparkly
  • Passionate
  • Loving
  • Loves to explore new things
  • Great self-esteem
  • Expressive
  • Compassionate
  • Caring
  • Amazing
  • Enchanting
  • Alluring
  • Breathtaking
  • Protective
  • Authentic
  • Paramount
  • Compassionate
  • Empathetic
  • Damn fine burner
  • Conscientious
  • Accepting of others
  • Rush
  • Tenacious
  • Giving
  • Adventurous
  • Goddess
  • Daring
  • Adventurous
  • Vibrant
  • Bold
  • Vulnerable
  • Compassionate
  • Authentic
  • Sexy
  • Smart
  • Stellar
  • Fearless
  • Empowered

What I learned from this exercise is that no one is harder on me than I am on myself. And perhaps, just maybe, I’m actually much closer to being the person who I want to be than I think.

I’ve always wanted to be brave, and strong, and adventurous.  And it appears that I am more like that than I previously thought.

And who doesn’t want to be described as breathtaking, alluring, enchanting, and gorgeous?

So take a minute before you criticize yourself and think of all the wonderful qualities that you possess.

Then maybe, like me, you can pause for a moment in your self-criticism and feel immensely, totally, in awe with yourself.


A few days ago, I posted #MeToo as my Facebook status to show my friends and family that I had survived sexual assault.

What was a little unexpected to me was the total deluge of women (and some men) admitting that they too had experienced sexual assault.

The first sexual assault that I can remember happened in 7th grade when I was 12 years old.

I was with my mom shopping in Payless. I was in the toy aisle, looking at toys.

I was wearing my school uniform – a blue and green plaid skirt, a white peter pan collar short sleeve blouse, white knee socks, and comfortable shoes.

My mom was elsewhere in the store when a man moved past me and as he did, I felt something brush my butt.

It almost seemed innocent, at the time.

I thought for sure I was making things up.

But just to be safe, I moved to another aisle, away from the man.

As I was looking at merchandise, the man came down my aisle and THIS TIME HE STOPPED, REACHED UNDER MY SKIRT, AND GRABBED ME BETWEEN MY LEGS.

In the pit of my stomach I knew this was wrong, just like I now knew the earlier touch had been intentional.

I should have screamed. Yelled. Pointed my finger at him and shamed him.

But I was little.

And scared.

I only told my mom what happened when we were safely at home away from the man.

The last time I was sexually assaulted was when I was out to dinner with my kids.

We were eating at Fresh Choice, and I was carrying two trays with food – one for my boys and one for me.

A busboy offered to help me with a tray.

When he reached for the tray, his hand rubbed slowly against my breast.

That sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach started to bubble up again.

I sat down immediately, trying to calm myself.

Feeling tears coming on.

When he set the tray down on the table, he brushed my breast AGAIN WITH HIS FUCKING HAND, and I nearly came undone.

This time, I’m happy to say I reported him to the staff at Fresh Choice AND to the Campbell Police Department.

Since it was a he-said-she-said case, the District Attorney opted to not prosecute, but at least I started (continued?) the paper trail on this predator.

In the 30 some years that transpired between these two incidents, there have been countless others – friends of my sister’s boyfriends who thought I was there for their pleasure, strangers in bars who liked how I looked and wanted to touch me, predators who offered to take my photo but turned it into something else, etc.

I’m proud I fought back as an adult woman but I have to admit, whenever I get sexually assaulted, my initial reaction is ALWAYS the same.

A sick feeling followed swiftly by fear and the urge to get as far away from the predator as I possibly can.

I’m still 12 years old.

Broken heart

A month ago I suffered a loss in my life of a relationship that meant a lot to me. With a person I thought very highly of.

Recently that loss was compounded and my heart was ripped open to bleed and hemorrhage all over again.

I’d like to say I handled it like a lady and quietly mourned my losses. But I didn’t.

I turned (understandably) into a bitch and lashed out at the source of my suffering.

I’ve since calmed the fuck down and am now able to slowly recover from my trauma, in the best way I know how…

…by perusing Pinterest for broken heart quotes and picking my favorites for this post.

IMG_7912 IMG_7903
IMG_7904 IMG_7905
IMG_7906 IMG_7907
IMG_7908 IMG_7909
IMG_7910 IMG_7911
IMG_7913 IMG_7914

Just another way to bleed, reposted

I’ve been thinking about Anti-Valentine’s Day and how it seems like a lot more fun than Valentine’s Day.

I took the liberty of putting together some swag for Anti-Valentine’s Day which I found incredibly entertaining.

Hope you enjoy…


image image

 And of course what kind of holiday would it be if you didn’t have a glass to toast with?

imageBecause drinking is par for the course on Anti-Valentine’s Day.

imageBut don’t be too hard on yourself. Indulge in a little self love.

image Because don’t forget a little bitterness is in order.

image image
image image

 And remember, you’re one bad ass bitch.

imageSo embrace your inner witch.

imageA broken heart isn’t the end of the world.

imageSo don’t go playing with one of these

imageAnd if all else fails…

imageHappy Fucking Valentine’s Day to you.

image“Love sucks. Sometimes it feels good. Sometimes it’s just another way to bleed” ~ Laurell Hamilton

Things you don’t know you don’t know

IMG_7299I’ve been having some health issues lately.

Nothing big, I hope, just a random cluster of symptoms that could mean I’m going into heart, liver, or kidney failure.

It could also be nothing more than a health issue that lifestyle changes will fix.

Cut back on the drinking, get more exercise, lower my salt intake, etc.

My doctor, after commiserating with me over my symptoms, prescribed a course of Lasix to rid my body of the excess water.

This is all well and good but genius that I am, I took the Lasix BEFORE bed and THEN SPENT THE REST OF THE NIGHT GOING TO THE BATHROOM!

So I’m just making a mental note for next time…