After my most recent heart surgery I wasn’t able to walk due to the hematoma on my leg. But I still wanted to do things. I mean, I was young and wanted to celebrate not dying.


My ex, A, and I decided to go to Leu Gardens. It is a beautiful botanical garden. Sometimes there are weddings there. Also, I adore plants and love botanical gardens. One of my old friends used to tell me I was a lesbian for Mother Nature. So there you go.

My next gf?


A and I went to the main entrance and saw that there was an option to rent a wheelchair for free. I hobbled over to the lady behind the desk and let her know that I needed a wheelchair.


She gave me this appraising look with an arched eyebrow as if to say she didn’t believe I was sick enough to need a wheelchair and perhaps I was faking/lazy.


At this time, my leg was so swollen and painful that I could only wear elastic waist banded skirts. I couldn’t wear any pants or shorts. Not even sweatpants or pajama pants.


Instead of explaining myself or arguing with this rude bitch, I lifted up my skirt (flashing her my sensible but loose fitting underwear) and showed her my hematoma.

I was all “Bitch, please.”


She gasped and asked me what had happened. So I told her about the 5 heart surgeries and she ran to get me a wheelchair. She was super nice after that. But is still a terrible person for making rude assumptions.


A pushed me down the hallway and out into the gardens. They were beautiful. It was a warm and sunny day. Flowers were in bloom everywhere I looked. It was one of the most romantic things A ever did with me.

So pretty


And it all would have been really great. Except for my motion sickness. I almost immediately started feeling sick. A had to push me slower and slower because every turn felt too fast. Soon we were barely crawling along.


I don’t know if other people in wheelchairs get motion sickness. I don’t know what I would do if it were in one permanently. Even the motorized ones make me feel sick.


I was dizzy and miserable. I tried wheeling myself but it didn’t seem to help.


After about half an hour of rolling around in the wheelchair I begged A to stop. Unfortunately, he stopped me right by a park bench. And I immediately threw up my breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast all over it.


Once I threw up, I felt much better. A and I laughed about me ruining the bench and we found a hose nearby to spray it down. We finished looking around and enjoying the gardens. But I would love to go back sometime now that I am ambulatory.

Maybe don’t sit on any benches there.

It took me quite a while to be able to eat eggs again after that.

Getting High

As a young child I was always trying to find some way to get high. I think we all did the things I am going to describe. As an adult I have alcohol and prescription drugs. But as a child, you have to use more natural methods. And I tried a lot of them.


I would stand with my arms spread wide and look up at the sky and spin around and around until I couldn’t spin anymore. Then I would try to walk around, stumbling and laughing.

Like this but less romantic-y.


When my older sister, W, would bring her boyfriends home, they would pick us up by our hands and swing us around in circles. In retrospect, my parents probably should not have let them do that. Especially to my sister, J, who had a habit of getting her shoulder dislocated. It just sounds dangerous. But we were surprisingly never injured.

How is this safe?


As an adult, before I started drinking, I had read this article and decided to try a few of the methods described.


I had already experienced the ‘high’ of not eating for several days back in high school. I used to do that all the time. It definitely works. But I wouldn’t recommend it as it is very unhealthy and potentially dangerous.


I also had experienced the high of sleep deprivation many times in my life. I have always had chronic insomnia from as far back as I can remember. I have gone days without sleep. At some point, once I pushed past that robotic zombie stage, I did start to hallucinate. Like serious, mostly scary, hallucinations. Again, it is not something I would recommend. Especially if you drive.



I have tried taking baths with Clary Sage essential oils. It did put me in a heightened state of relaxation beyond that of just taking a warm bath. I still do it from time to time because I like the calming quality of it.


I also do meditate. It helps me to relax at night before sleeping. Sometimes I have meditated for hours at a time. I have had several very unusual meditative experiences that I will describe sometime. When I can figure out how to talk about them without sounding like a total kook.


But none of those highs compare to this thing I used to do with my friend M, and sister J when we were kids.


We would stand with our backs against a wall and bend forward, as though we were trying to touch our toes (something I have only been able to do in the last few years thanks to yoga).We would breathe rapidly and deeply for a few minutes.

Exactly like this but breathing really heavily.


Then we would stand up suddenly and hold our breaths. This never worked for me for weeks and weeks of trying. And then one day M put her hands around my throat. I don’t know if it was the pressure or the restriction of air. But it worked.


It worked so well that sometimes I would lose consciousness. I really enjoyed doing it until one time I lost consciousness, fell down, and hit my head on the door handle and almost gave myself a concussion.


I refused to try it again after that.


Did anyone else do these things? Are there things you did to get high that I am not mentioning?


Gin and Tonic

I think I am going to need to buy a new laptop. Remember when I dropped it that time? Well, the power cord is loose now but I’ll just put it off until it completely stops working altogether and buy a new one in a frenzied, angry panic. Good plan.


I’m one of those people that has a very strong stomach for talking about gross things, or even doing gross things. But a very weak stomach for actual food.


I’m going to tell you guys right now; I hate junipers. I hate them. I hate them in any plant form that exists. I wish I had some horrible experience to blame my irrational hatred of them on. But I don’t. My granny had two giant ones in her front yard when we were growing up. And I hated them even as a small child.

Ugh. Look at this stupid fucking thing.

Now I have a reason to hate them.


Gin is made from juniper berries. I have always thought gin and tonics were very classy despite an interesting night I had with my sister J with them. But I had never tried one up till last night. And I was pretty convinced I would not like it. Because of my juniper hatred.


So last night I pour myself this gin and tonic. I carefully sniffed at the mini bottle of gin before pouring it into my glass. It smelled like juniper and I think my mind rebelled a little. But I was determined to try it.

It wasn’t this brand but look at this classy shit. I don’t even like lemon in my water.

I want to be classy, dammit! I want to be one of those people that eats linguine with clam sauce and drinks martinis, and always looks put together. I want glossy hair and clothes that flatter me and actual knowledge on doing makeup. And to me a gin and tonic is right up there with all the classy foods.

Just classy as fuck.

Foods I wind up not liking because I am not classy. I like fried chicken and barbeque and tacos. I wear men’s t-shirts my brother and I pull from the dumpster and jeans and sandals that I think make me look like a lesbian but I wear them anyway.

Get in my mouth!

But I try.


I took one sip of that gin and tonic and gagged. Not one to be deterred by a little thing like a gag reflex, I went to the kitchen, stood over the sink (just in case) and took another sip. I gagged again. You guys know I have an iron will and determination.


So I said, “You will NOT throw this up. You WILL drink this.”


I took another sip. And I threw up in the sink.

I poured the rest of that horrid drink down the drain and had a strawberry lime Rekorderlig instead. It was delicious and got the taste of failure and vomit right out of my mouth. They’re welcome to use that if they’re looking for a new slogan.

This is like alcoholic fruit soda.

Once again, my taste buds have prevented me from the classy lifestyle that is waiting just behind eating and drinking the right things. Apparently.

The Proposal

I’m not sure if many of you know this, but once upon a time, in a galaxy far far away; I was married. But I don’t want to talk about that part of the story. I want to tell you about the proposal.


I was never one of those women that ever wanted to get married. I didn’t daydream about rings and cake and dresses. I actually didn’t think I’d ever even get a boyfriend let alone get married.


So I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t have some big plan about how it was all going to happen. However, I was pretty sure of what I didn’t want. I didn’t want anything traditional. No yellow gold bands, no diamonds, no white dress (a symbol of virginity, what a laugh!), no church or walking down an aisle, no family to “give me away.”

Just look at this bullshit.

I decided that I was a simple girl. I wanted  a small tasteful ring and a trip to the courthouse. No party. No frills. Just practical and unromantic. That was me.


When I was 21 I had been dating J for two years. I didn’t love him. He didn’t make me happy. But the sex was great and he was nice enough, I guess. And that seemed good enough to me at the time.


It was Christmas time and I was talking to J about what he had gotten me for the holiday. I vividly remember this because we were standing in the kitchen and I was wearing some god awful fat girl pants because I had rapidly gained about 30lbs when he and I moved in together and nothing fit. For someone with an eating disorder, it was a serious issue. I hated my body and I hated being naked. I was miserable in everything I owned.


I told J what I tell every guy I date. “I don’t care what you get me for Christmas, but you better get me something. And it better be thoughtful. At worst, get me some dark chocolate.”

Seriously, this would be okay. I’m not fancy.

And J replied “Don’t worry. I got you something.”


So I said, “Okay. Cool.”


Then J asked if I wanted to open it now. Which I didn’t. I’m patient.


And he said, “No. I want to give it to you now.” The next thing I knew he was down on one knee. Holding up a ring box.


The said the first thing that popped into my mind. Which was, “Are you fucking kidding me?! A ring is not a Christmas present! Me ‘getting’ to marry you is not what I want for my Christmas gift. You need to get me a real present.”


So he said he would and asked if I was even going to open it.


I took it from him (still on one knee) and muttered something about how the stupid thing wasn’t even wrapped.


I flipped open the box and sighed. It was like he literally had not listened to anything I had ever said to him. It was a square cut white diamond in a yellow gold band. It was everything I had said I didn’t want.

No offense to anyone that likes this. But I do not.

I took one look at the ring, handed it back to him, and said, “No.”


J got to his feet. “What do you mean no?”


“I don’t like any part of that ring. And I don’t want to get married with it. Get a new ring or forget the whole thing.”


I should have taken that as a sign that he wasn’t right for me. But I don’t really believe in signs. Maybe I should have known that the fact that he hadn’t listened to me was a sign that he wasn’t right for me. But I didn’t. Because I am an idiot.


I did not feel bad for even one second about my reaction. Who proposes in the kitchen? As a Christmas present? With the exact opposite of what I wanted in a ring? I had NOT been dropping hints about marriage. I hadn’t even been thinking about marriage. I wasn’t thinking about much of anything in regards to our relationship. I never do.

I think some small part of me knew that if he was right for me; then I would be happy to marry him no matter what. But that small part of me also acknowledged that there probably was no “right” for me. And he was the best I was going to get. (He wasn’t).


So he went back and got me a different ring. White gold (not great still) and tanzanite (not my style but at least not a diamond).

Still not me.

We were married and divorced within six months of that horrible fucking proposal. But that is a story for another blog altogether.

In case you guys are wondering. I want something more like this as my wedding band (I already told you guys I want a Squash Blossom necklace as my engagement jewelry, I figure it’s the only way I’ll get one):

Meteorite, dinosaur bone and copper

Or this

Garnet Crown Industrial Ring

Garnet is all me.

Bad Girl Blogging

The dazzling Ann over at Ann St. Vincent nominated me for a blogging award. I told you I got a ton of nominations on my hiatus. Apparently I am a Bad Girl Blogger. All I have to say to that is; you people have no idea. But I am starting to tell those stories.

This image could not be less me.

I feel like Ann keeps trying to rub in my face that I could have kissed her when we met, but totally missed out because I never think anyone wants to kiss me, ever. But I intend to get another chance at that when I go visit her sometime.


As a Bad Girl Blogger I have to nominate some fellow Bad Girl Blogger’s. These are kick ass women that talk about sex on their blogs. Also, I vow to live up to my title and share more stories about sex on my blog. I have a lot of them.


I happen to know some amazing female bloggers that talk about sex. So here you go. If you don’t read these women, you should be ashamed of yourself. Not just because they are cool as fuck and talk about sex, but also because they are talented and brilliant writers.

This is more me

Spankalicious: I’m not even sure how I found Sharn, but I am so grateful that I did. She is so candid and comfortable talking about her sexual experiences. I have zero issues talking about sex in real life, and I want to be able to blog about it as comfortably as she does.


A Buick in the Land of Lexus: I have often told Samara that every word she writes feels like sex. She does talk about sex, but even when she isn’t; there is something sexy to me about her prose. But she is also witty and tough and sweet and a little bit intimidating. Read her.


More than Sweet Potatoes: You may have noticed that whenever I have to nominate a blog for something, Debbie always comes to my mind. You may also think it’s because we’re friends in real life. But you’d be wrong. She is awesome and funny and recently started a series about her sex life hilariously titled “What’s in the box?” So go read her!


Gunmetal Geisha: She is a bit deeper and more philosophical than anyone I would normally read for fun. But she does make it fun. I don’t know if she has outright talked about sex on her blog, but she talks about men and dating and sexy things. And her writing style is one I admire and am in awe of.
So, if any of you ladies mentioned above want to participate, feel free to share some of your own picks for Bad Girl Bloggers. But no pressure.

Waterbed Sex

Growing up, my period was as unpredictable as a wild animal. I could go months without getting it at all. And there were a few times I would get it twice in one month. Usually it would only last a day or two. But every once in a while it would come at me with the fury of a rabid wild creature.


Why have I been cursed?!


As an adult (and now that I am at a healthy weight) it is extremely regular and mild. Except those rare occasions that it comes at me like a wild rabid creature the way it did this weekend.


I was sort of expecting it, but I had no idea when I went to sleep Friday night that I would wake up to a crime scene in my sheets Saturday morning. But I did. And this is why women make good serial killers. We know how to get blood out of anything.

Not shown: cramps


But this weekend reminded me of another time I got my period.


In high school, I was dating the exchange student. We had only had sex once or twice and I was NOT comfortable with discussing bodily fluids with him (and I never would be).


My parents had a California King size waterbed with a massive wooden headboard and canopy awning. This thing was a monstrosity and it took up my parents entire bedroom. We only owned one blanket that fit it. A beautiful green and yellow quilt that had been a wedding present to my parents.

It was like this but bigger.


Naturally, G and I decided to have sex on it. I had certainly never had sex on a waterbed before. And I figured my parents’ would be my only chance. Unless I went back in time and slept with a dude from the 80s.


G and I started kissing. He was one of the worst kissers I have ever experienced. I’ll gladly take part of the blame since he was the first person I had ever kissed myself; I doubt I was any good either. But one time he burped IN my mouth while we were kissing. It was repulsive.


We got naked and had sex. Again, not the worst sex I have ever had. But even I knew this was not good sex and he was the only person I had ever done it with.

The quilt I tried to ruin was pretty similar to this one


Sex on a waterbed was also a total pain in the ass. The water makes it own waves that tend to fight against your movements. Plus there was no mattress spring action to help us out.


It was like trying to swim against a rip tide in the most unsexy way possible. Maybe that was just me, though. I’d love to hear about someone else having a better experience.


It was when he pulled out that we saw it. There was blood everywhere. All over him, all over me. It looked like he had been stabbing me with a knife instead of with his dick.


Oh, the horror


And there was blood all over my parents’ wedding quilt. I started freaking out when I saw it. My parents were never going to get over this if I couldn’t get the blood out.


G got angry with me. “Why didn’t you tell me you were on your period?”


“I wasn’t. I mean, I didn’t know I was.”


But he didn’t believe me. He thought I had tricked him into having sex with me while I was on my period. Then I got all pissed off because he thought I was lying. Plus I was embarrassed about what had happened. Embarrassed that we were now having a discussion about my period.


But let me tell you guys something, I have a rule: If you won’t bang me during my period then you don’t get to bang me at all. If you can’t handle my bodily fluids then perhaps you would be happier with a man.

And it turns out, G was happier with a man. So there you go.