First world problems

I received an email from a guy who made an interesting proposal. He read a blog where I said I was interested in shooting some adult content. (Technically not what I said, but) I gave him my number anyway. He called me. He asked what type of guys I like, and what I'm into sexually. (We all know what I'm into sexually.)

After some chat he text me pics of guys he knows, and Twitter links. I made a Twitter account, read their funny tweets. Saw their pics. I picked a few guys out who seemed like they'd be a lot of fun to play with. He gave them my number. We all start texting. These guys have no idea what I look like. I sent them some pics. 

To put it mildly, they weren't interested having sex with me. Neither one of the two guys I picked. Which is fine. No big deal. It's not my industry. It just seemed hot. Like it could be fun. I'm no stranger to being naughty on cam. The moon and stars aligned. I was very attracted to these two guys. However the attraction just isn't mutual. What can you do?

I expressed my concerns being too old. Yes I have a very young face. No lines or wrinkles. Good genetics. I'm lucky I guess. Up until I cut off my hair I was usually guessed for being up to 20 years younger. I had a very, very young appearance before letting my natural hair color grow out, but that's why I did it. I'm tired of looking like a little girl. I'm tired of being carded.

I'm short. I'm small. I'm Asian. Up until I cut off my hair (a month ago) I was still being carded on a regular basis. I'm tired of it. 

Louis: You see that old woman? That will never happen to you. You will never grow old, and you will never die. 

Claudia: And it means something else too, doesn't it? I shall never ever grow up.

The amusing part of it all is, is how these guys reacted to my short hair. "You're a pretty girl. Why are you doing this to yourself??" Like I'm shooting up heroin, or something.

I'm at a point in my life where I just want to enjoy it. That's all. No drama. No problems.

Hot old lady. ;)

It was an interesting proposal. I appreciate it. 

It just didn't work out.

But now I have this Twitter account...

Ask them how much it would take?

(That's a joke by the way. I don't care.)

Yes please intro me to more guys

Who hate girls with short hair. It was so much fun the first two times. ;)

Hate. It.

If I can find their texts I'll snap pic the part where one guy called my hair "fucked up" and the other guy said my hair "looks terrible" and further text "That's a dyke's haircut". Ha! Joke's on you! I've been called waaaaaay worse! That's actually a compliment!

I'm too old!

Now I'm just the dirty old lady on the block. Besides the only two men I want to do it with hate my hair. Meh. What can you do? Hang out at the beach and be happy. :)

The dykeline

Is the jawbone.

Hair cut on women above the jawbone --dyke.
Hair grown on women past the jawbone --straight

C'mon! EVERYbody knows that! ;)

Help me, Anderson Cooper!

"What we have here is failure to communicate."

Apparently I never want to have sex again or I'd stop cutting my hair. Aside from long time friends, men, straight men, are being super vocal about absolutely hating my short hair. 

Hey guess what, I cut it even shorter!

 As I've blogged (continuously) through the month of January 2016, I cut off all my hair to start over. New. No more hair dye. No bleach. Only to expose my 90% white hair. And to be perfectly honest I'm really liking my short hair. I might keep it through the summer. 

Contrary to all the "dyke" comments, aside from the reason why I cut off all my hair as I've previously explained, many times, repeatedly, once upon a time in the not so distant past, short hair on women was fashionable, back when men actually left their homes to socialize and didn't rely only on the Internet to meet women. I know crazy, right?!

I have short hair. I really don't care if you don't like it. I LOVE it. 

I have a new woman-cave I'm excited as can be putting it together. On my way there this morning after finishing my morning caffeine. Summers at the beach are just around the corner. Yay! Shopping for a new bicycle --one with a little basket to carry my groceries home from the beach.

Life is good!

Want to meet, hang out some time? Fantastic. You know where the ocean is right? Well that's where I'll be! I'm the Asian chick with white hair. Not too many of us around these parts.

Dyke hair? Really?

My apologies to dykes everywhere!

And FYI my long time hairdresser, a 200 pound Mexican dyke with a blue Mohawk, I've blogged about her over the years, still my friend, but no long my hairdresser because she refused to cut off my long hair. 

Technically, you can't call it "dyke hair" when dyke hairdressers don't even like it.

I've aged out.

It happens! I just want to be the best dirty old lady I can be. ;)

Stop!

I'm too old! I told you this already...

No child on EARTH "needs" 20 million dollars

Good luck with that.

Joint bank account

I was young and dumb. When I opened my own private bank account he started taking me to court. Of course he wasn't going to win but that never stops people.

1 month

Tomorrow...

Since I cut off 2 1/2 feet of long time dyed black hair. I was unable to donate the hair because (the person I spoke to) said they don't accept dyed or bleached hair. Sucks. But I understand.

I'm no longer dying my hair. Done. 

TODAY (an hour ago) the hair looks like this. Its growing in more patch salt and pepper. Cool. Whatever.

 

 

 

Same day after my haircut. No white hairs yet.

 

 

 

 

 

And then the white hair started growing out...

 

 

 

 

So on the beaches this summer I'll look like THIS but not entirely platinum.

Junior platinum. Starter platinum. Platinum light. Platinum... I'm totally procrastinating doing laundry. 

 

 

 

You're going to have to "miss" my blogs for a little while. Tragic, I know. But I FINALLY got my woman-cave and will be spending the next few weeks putting it together. And by putting it together, I mean stocking it with dusty wine and a year's worth of condoms.

(I'm pretty sure I meant that the other way around.)

I need to stop blogging on my phone

I "need to" but we all know I won't.

Stay tuned for my next BLOG: That time I blewjgfb fdj7!dtpp

Ex-boyfriend

Last night I Googled an ex boyfriend from eons ago. Technically ex-fiancé. He bought a ring, proposed, and I said yes. He's now an attorney practicing law in the Bay Area. White Collar crime. He introduced me to his mom who shook my hand hello and exclaimed, "Oh! She's cute!"

I'll never forget that. Sweet.

White Collar crime.

Good news, I'll never need his legal services.
Bad news... Well I guess there really isn't any, is there.

It's ok boys

You can lose to Minnesota. That's acceptable. ;)

Dear MOXIE, please return to your blogs. Please.

I'm seeing Suicide Squad, just for her.

Margot Robbie, you're a HOT Harley Quinn!

Yeeeeeeesh

Agreed with the masses. Blaaaaaaah. She's disgusting.

But they're desperate and she's obviously broke, so...

Operation TRUMPBACKS

I want them all documented!

Yellow Fever

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Go Home!

I'm making tee-shirts.

I'll see Sergio, Sunday...

If he says "go" I'm doing it the following week.

From that point on its all (Asian girl with) platinum white hair...

They better legalize prostitution soon daddy-o, 'cuz I'll be looking like a tramp!

Mark says shave it off, but...

Sergio, says no.

I just want to get rid of the black hair dye.

I've got a good inch or so of natural white hair...

 

 

I'm thinking...

 

 

He said he was better than other men

What a douchebag thing to say. Can't IMAGINE why I don't want to meet him for coffee.

I'd rather hang out with the "other men" thanks.

Fit and stupid does nothing for me.

"Shave your head!"

Maybeeee....

Nice wood!

These husbands don't need swinger girlfriends. They need hookers. If it were legal to be retained before a date, and charge him, like say how a lawyer charges you...

Per email

Every minute per phone call

Per text message

Per visit

Per paperwork

Per appearance

Trust me...

Those husbands would go home afterwards...

And be grateful.

I guess what I'm m trying to say is...

Prostitution will make your marriage STRONGER.

.

.

.

What.

It's my blog. I can pitch this any way I want.

You pay them to leave!

Go home!

 

As the wise sex-philosopher Charley Harper, promotes, "You don't pay hookers to have sex with you. You pay them to leave afterwards."

Among numerous other reasons why I think prostitution should be legal, that quote is among them. You pay them to leave afterwards. THAT very passage needs to be written into law. It's not the sex you're paying for. You're paying them to leave. 

Discontent is on the rise.

Mental illness is on the rise. 

Everyone is to blame but themselves.

"Maybe if I text her again in three months she'll finally go out with me."

"Maybe if I make certain she never forgets me..."

Charlie Harper, is a fictional character on TWO AND A HALF MEN, but if something didn't resonate (at least a little) with the things he says, that show wouldn't have gone on for as long as it has. --Best to you Charlie Sheen, with all sincerity. Take care of you.

I'm not a shrink. I'm not educated in the ways of mental health. I can only philosophy...

Observe, a mental emergency shut off valve within all of us, for some, perhaps for many, is being deliberately turned off, out of laziness to cope, opting to instead mentally stray and wander without a thread of reason. And these people turn themselves off intentionally, willfully, and make no mistake, purposely. Often times blaming others for their cerebral laziness.

When someone tells you they can't "cope" it generally translates into, "I don't want to cope. I'm lazy." In which case, run for your life. 

Me, on the other hand, I'm grabbing a hockey stick, some duct tape, two packs of chewing gum, and working this out. 

Or at least try. 

PART II

Until we catch up to (movie) LOGANS RUN, with the hologram insta sex transport 

beam-y thing, too many obstacles between now and then, can and will, prevent making a social sexual/sensual connection. 

Things happen.

For example, unexpectedly getting carded to see a movie, subsequently cutting off near but all my hair, accepting my hair is white, and at my age working with what my parents DNA gene pools gave me, naturally, rather than paying someone else money NOT to look like me...

Etc.

Transition. 

I know how I look. I'm not that cute little Asian doll, anymore. Now I'm me. My friends still love me. They know I'm happy. But we also know my social/personal life has, and will continue to make drastic U-turns until I'm done paving this new improved road home.

I'm ok with it. 

Peace. Ohm.

I can take the criticism and funny looks. 

It's MY road home. Only I have to know how to get there. 

Independence. Proud of it.

What's more...

PART III

I believe in equality, liberty and justice for all. 

I truly do.

I believe adults are responsible for their actions. Both men and women. 

If you say and further believe, "I'm always righteous because I was born with a mighty vagina!" You're neither a feminist or in your right mind. You're just crazy and unstable.

I don't automatically think you're right just because you're a woman. Plead your case. Let's see evidence. Burden of proof is on you. Innocent until proven guilty.

(Save us Judge Judy!)

PART IV

I've been propositioned over the years to write chapters/books on being a single woman in various sexual societies, appear on "reality TV", etc, etc, blah, boring, but I much rather tell my stories and random daily thoughts here, in MY words, free of charge. Plaidskirttorpedoes is entirely free. I don't get paid. I don't even put paid advertisements on my blogs though I easily could through Blogger host Google, or my own sales, I could easily make a little side cash, but I choose not to. Thus ZERO conflict of interest. 

PART V

What's more, it's not "just" my short haircut disrupting the sexual swing of things. It's also the lazy lack of coping skills, and feelings of entitlement potential/partners seem to think ok. 

I met this couple. Nice people. Attractive. Seemingly doing fine in life. Happy? Perhaps. The wife tells in me private she's fine with me spending time alone with her husband. So the husband and I spent ONE afternoon/evening together. 

Just one.

And for the past 7 months afterwards he's been hounding me via text and phone calls. I never respond. But that doesn't stop him from spiraling out of control. 

What's the protocol here? 

Meh. I blocked him. 

What a mistake meeting those guys.

That husband took the memory of a really nice afternoon together, and ruined it with his crazy behavior afterwards.

As a result, I will never intentionally meet another couple for the same reason ever again. This isn't the first time this has happened, but I assure you it's the last.

Find your way home, sirs. Go home!

PART VI

While I will never meet another couple again, what I will do is try understanding how and why the wires in his brain got so horribly tangled. More often than not, people are emotionally/mentally spiraling out of control. 

Laziness. Entitlement. Sure. But also perhaps something more?

No one seems to want to go home anymore.

Why not?

Why can't people have an amazing wonderful time and then go home?

If we don't try fixing this problem, it will become an epidemic worse than zombie apocalypse. 

Soul sucking zombies.

People will say, "Don't try understanding these people. There's no sense or reason." 

Only, there is. 

Otherwise seemingly intelligent individuals somewhere/somehow decided accountability doesn't apply to them. And it's not just random occurrences anymore. 

Desperation. Grasping at anything to prevent them from going home.

If we don't mend the fabric of society, and soon, others will build on its chaos. Make considerable amounts of money off it. Profit from your desires.

Wait a minute! That sounds a lot like prostitu...

Zombies.

Do you care about your kids at all? They're the ones who will spend their lifetimes in the fray.

This isn't individual. 

It's becoming epidemic. 

PART VII

Calling a guy I'm dating my "boyfriend" means we're more than friends, but explicitly less than married. You're not my friend. You're definitely not my husband. The nature of our association is somewhere in the middle without promises of here to eternity, or exclusivity.

And... 

Hopefully you like hiking, drinking wine, watching indie films, and eating sushi. 

I'll accept 1 out 4.

But...

I have zero interest being married. Zero interest having children. Ever.

Men get it, or they don't.

The ones who get it will have an amazing girlfriend/friend in me for life.

The ones who don't get it are presently going through my garbage! 

PART VIII

"You don't pay them to have sex with you. You pay them to leave afterwards."

Exactly! Go home!

These husbands don't need swinger girlfriends. They need hookers. If it were legal to be retained before a date, and charge him, like say how a lawyer charges you...

Per email

Every minute per phone call

Per text message

Per visit

Per paperwork

Per appearance

Trust me...

Those husbands would go home afterwards...

Or go broke. 

(Like Vegas!)

Apparently Ancient Rome, Ancient Egypt, and Amsterdam, had/have the necessary know-how to legalize prostitution. 

So what's our problem?

Politicians seemingly want every ethnicity not Anglo to index their heritage for permanent surveillance, and in the same breath claim unable to register consenting adults to work in sex trade?

Ridiculous.

My friends and I have this conversation all the time. There's no reason prostitution should remain illegal. 

None.

Religion? 

Really?

For "swinger" couples, your husbands are blowing up other women's cell phones, who are not prostitutes, and going through their garbage, and driving down their streets hoping to see them.

Is this god's will?

Are you suuuuuure?

Your god has a lot of explaining to do.

I wear my dad's finger print around my neck. That's what I believe in. That's my faith. 

My religion: Family. Friends. Potluck. Hiking trips. Sunrise. Sunset. A nice glass of wine. A relaxing cup of tea.

I'll never want for anything more.

But for the rest of the world... 

What do YOU want? What's it going to take for you to stop, turn around, and go home?

I redirect you to:

These husbands don't need swinger girlfriends. They need hookers. If it were legal to be retained before a date, and charge him, like say how a lawyer charges you...

Per email

Every minute per phone call

Per text message

Per visit

Per paperwork

Per appearance

Trust me...

Those husbands would go home afterwards...

And be grateful.

The great poet Aramis

He said, and I repeat it because sometimes it takes a guy to talk to guys, "Right now you" meaning me, "look like a little boy. The guys hitting on you must like little boys. What's wrong with these guys?"

(I know, right?!)

There's why and wherefore I'm reconstructing my image during winter months. I'm hibernating. Letting my natural hair color grow out. Watching movies and drinking wine with friends. You know, typical winter bear stuff as portrayed on the NGC.

P.s. Netflix, we just finished watching THE HOUSEMAID. Your description of the movie is wholey inaccurate. The movie is better portrayed as the life of the maid from THE OMEN, up until the point where she does "that thing" during Damian's birthday party, where then director Sang-Soo Im, must have caught the ending of (the original) THE GREAT GATSBY, circa 1974, after taking LSD, for about ten years.

Now that's a movie narrative worth seeing on the big screen!

Nothing keeps a GIRL hot

Like texting, emailing, emailing, texting, texting, texting, emailing, texting...

Hey I know! Why don't you guys just show up at my job. And wait in my driveway for me to get home.  That's so hot!

Um. No.

"I don't understand why she lost interest? I've only text, called, and asked her out 47 times last week. That's normal, right?"

Abduction!

And not in the fun sexy way!

"Abduction" auto correct: A suction

Not even that. 

Please stop texting me

Clearly nothing is going to happen here, or it would have back in August 2012, when we first started talking. I've obviously lost interest.

Goodbye HB.

What's wrong with you?

Alphabetically please. It's easier to read.

Las Vegas

Next.

How dare you!

Interrupt Sugar Hill, Apache!!

Fluffier than bunny's bottom!

No seriously. Ever since I cut off 2 1/2 feet of black dye, three weeks ago, and started letting my natural white hair grow out, my hair has never felt so soft. Go on. Touch it!

"You're not funny!"

Do they even have amateur comedy hour in gay saunas? Because I'm pretty sure my next gig will be as a towel boy at Hancho Palace.

Phone meets blog

I shouldn't blog on my phone. But I'm old and lazy, so...

I'd like to thank thank the acadamy... And Jesus!

She eyeballed me. Closely. First at my face, then at my hair. Then at my face, and then at my hair again. 

Don't do it. Don't you do it, lady.

She wanted to. I saw her lips beginning to curl the words...

But then she stopped and just scanned my Stella's

At last! I wasn't carded! I've arrived! So this is what puberty feels like!

I suffer from J. FOX MULANEY SYNDROME. 

Not a real syndrome. But if it were it would only be described as: Those who suffer from not being able to physically age past 12 years old. 

(Fine. Mentally too.)

Now that I'm letting my hair grow out, I don't get carded. Asian girl with white hair. In six months I'll be mistaken for a hooker but what's the worst that can happen? Meh. So I make a little extra pocket cha...

"Only $50,000??"

Yeah I'm not greedy. Christ.

Wait a minute!

I have friends in Chino Hills!

Texting them now...

"Hi! Good morn! Quick Q. Hey can I borrow $50,000?"

Waiting for a reply...

My BALL so full of power!

I suckered myself into buying Powerball tickets. Just two.

But I'm going to win! I can feel it!

And when I do, I'm (totally!) going to buy the Hugh Hefner Habitat!

I mean, the Playboy mansion.

I misread "pity party"

I thought you two were inviting me to something else entirely. ;)

Minnesota. -9 degrees. Blame Canada.

Lie.

Just tell Donald Trump, illegal Mexicans are trying to enter the country via northern boarder into the U.S. and to start building that wall!

It will totally work!

Trump doesn't know where Mexico, is.

No, thank you

I've been asked, and that was/is my reply.

I'm not interested attending anything presented in company with...

No swearing!

He's the guy who got mad when I swore. He's written me like ten times telling me he'd like my blogs more if I stopped swearing... so naturally I followed up each time with as much cursing as possible in the next blog.

I sense an abduction coming.

Puppy killer

Every time you say something stupid, a puppy dies. You killed about 14 puppies just now. Puppy killer. I know your girlfriend. I'm telling her about your puppy killing ways.

If Paris Hilton

Wanted to attend Yale, she would have gotten in and invented a degree. Affluent parents get their kids into Ivy League.

He went to community college. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I'm just saying affluent parents wouldn't accept community college.

Why this kid was allowed to have a naked drunk 14 year old girl in his vehicle, is a matter for the state. Shame on you Texas. I thought you guys pulled the switch for less.

Homeless

Where I live in Los Angeles, I see more mentally sick homeless white people than any other color.

Adjust. Coping skills.

It makes me sick when I read "How do I adjust in the real world again?"

Shut up.

Unless you were in a war and saw children butchered before your eyes... You can adjust.

If you're saying you have no coping skills, then just direct yourself to the nearest mental institution because I think that's a prerequisite for admittance.

Common sense

Loaded beyond rich and wealth.

Upper middle class

Is NOT affluent. It's called "comfortable".

Read this guy's Wiki. Read his "early life" section. If I had hair to pull out of my head, that's what I'd be doing right now.

Affluenza. Bullshit.

White Collar parents are NOT affluent. I had White Collar parents and grew up in a very nice neighborhood, but I assure you, had I killed four people (especially) while drunk driving, my ass would have gone to jail! --Precisely where his ass needs to go!!

There's a difference between rich and wealthy. If you don't know what the difference is, you were probably never either one, and therefor should settle the matter with common sense ---if someone murders four people drunk driving, their ass goes to jail!

Why is this even a story??

The luckiest man on earth!

Channing Tatum!

 

His wife Jenna Dewan, is my dream girl.

 

(If I was bisexual, which we all know I'm... )

 

 

Love the skunk!

I have short hair. This is how I look now. Short hair. I'm letting the white/grey hair grow completely out. Natural. My friends have heard me talk about doing this for at least two years now. It's drastic. I know. I'm presently not dating anyone so the only person this effects is me...

 

And acquaintances who really, really, really, really hate it, apparently.   

 

 

 

 

In six month I'll be on a beach in a retro bikini (I already bought it!) with, what I envision, will be THIS hairstyle...

 

 

 

 

 

But not first before cutting off even more of the old dyed black hair as the white grows out, which means for a little while I'll have THIS hairstyle...

 

 

 

 

  

 

Just...

Love the skunk!!

Ok let me explain.

When I was a little girl there was a cartoon called Pepe Le Pew. Pepe, was a male skunk. A lovelorn, romantic, affectionate, bouncy skunk. I love Pepe!

Enter: Penelope Pussycat. 

Penelope, is a fluffy female tuxedo cat. One day Penelope Pussycat, unknowingly walks under wet white paint that leaves a white streak on her fluffy black kitty tail. Not aware of the new white streak on her tail, she is horrified when Pepe Le Pew, a skunk, happens to see her, falls passionately in love with her, and from that moment on relentlessly pursues her.

Today such relentless pursuit is called stalking. A very serious crime. But when I was a little girl it was called proper entrainment for children. 

Anderson Cooper, is my celebrity hair wannabe. I can only hope to be a (granule) as attractive as Anderson Cooper, when my white hair truly blossoms out. Until then, I have become Pepe Le Pew, a streak of white hair on black mane, COMICALLY trying to get you naysayers to like it. Love the skunk!

 

And since I'm having a Google Image JPEG lust-hair-affair with an openly gay man I will never meet, Anderson Cooper, including for those of you who don't know who Pepe Le Pew, is, I'll use images of Pepe Le Pew, to better illustrate the accurateness of our romance...

 

                                    

                               Anderson Cooper                   Me

 

 

 

                                   

                                  Anderson Cooper      Me

 

 

 

 

 

                                Anderson Cooper        Me

 

 

 

 

 

                    Me                 Anderson Cooper

 

 

 

 

"Come to me my delicate little flowerpot! Do not run! There is no escaping. Zee cabbage does not run from zee corn beef!"

Figuratively speaking, dear acquaintances, I am Pepe Le Pew! 

Love the skunk! 

 

 

Furthermore, I think there might be some "hair correlation" due to color.

 

I found this on Google Image. We had the same hair color when we were both younger. Mine was a shade darker than his, but still...

 

 

 

 

He started going white at a much younger age also. But look at him now. Wow.

 

 

 

 

 

White hair on men gives them a more mature, sophisticated, distinguished appearance. Agreed. But that's just hair. The reality might be something else entirely?

 

Have a little vision. It'll look smoking hot on me too!

 

Love the skunk, my delicate little flowerpots!

 

 

What exactly are you trying to say?

 

 

Critics...

 

 

 

 

Dear Anderson Cooper

Thank you for being my inspiration. Soon we will have similar haircuts, and color.

Lesbians don't snub me anymore, and gay men at the gym ask for my phone number.

I just hope I still look prettier in my dress and make up, than you would.

I'm transitioning!

Kind of weird my eyebrows aren't changing color?

 

 

 

Oh! Wait! I forgot the filter...

 

 

 

 

 

I blame Apple for my white hair!

(Which is growing out nicely by the way!)

I'll post an update photo soon.

An Asian girl with white hair.

My list of future occupations narrow. :)

We're just apples

Every year on my birthday the first text message I would receive was always from my dad. "Happy Birthday! Call me when you wake up! Love you! Dad"

Parents and technology. You don't have to sign your name in a text. I know it's you when I put your number in...

But every year, and in every text, "Love you! Dad."

My dad passed away last June, lung cancer. Though he had quit smoking (I don't know when exactly) some 30 years beforehand, he still got lung cancer. 

This was the first year I wouldn't get that birthday message. 

However... 

When I woke up yesterday, on the 7th, the first text message I received that morning came from my dad's very thoughtful widow. Though she and I only started getting to know each other when my dad fell seriously ill, she was regardful of the day in absence of my dad.

Very kind.

This was my dad. His name was John.

I took this picture of dad November (2014). He was in the last stage of his cancer before succumbing to it 7 months later the following June (2015).

I love this photo... for a few different reasons.

If it looks like we're partially sitting outside, it's because we are.

The room dad and I are sitting in, once upon a time, was a sizeable deck that wrapped part way around the first floor of his house. 

With the children now grown, grandchildren mostly grown, dad decided he was going to build a four-season room on the deck dedicated to something he was quite passionate about... his grill.

When my brothers and I were kids, during the blistering cold frigid dead months of Minnesota winter, dad would have us shovel a path in the snow to his BBQ grill so he could grill dinner. Sure it was worth it, but...

Once all the kids were grown and gone, dad didn't need the deck so much anymore, why not build a four-season room on top of the deck, and finally be able to grill all year long in comfort and style?

Originally this room was all glass. Like a hothouse. The top window panels crank open and shut by hand. They still do. Later on dad added a few walls for better insulation. 

Of all the rooms in dad's house, this is my favorite room. His too. Our visits mostly took place here in this room. Minnesota being a four season state, the view was always beautiful and we didn't have to combat snow, or mosquitos.   

The other reason I love this photo, THIS particular photo..

 

While dad was in the daunt of chemo, insulin, home blood tests, etc., the doctors suggested he write a blog. My dad is more of a "hands on" guy. In person. Sights and sounds in the moment. Not a writer. Alongside grilling, dad's other favorite past time was construction/carpentry, i.e. building furniture, houses, he had a workshop in the basement for many years. But the doctors suggested he now blogged, plus my dad wanted to connect and support other cancer patients and their families. That's what he was doing in this picture. Writing his blog.

On this day...

 

Because of the rigorous 24 hour routine of tests, medicine, and the aftereffects of chemo, dad had many sleepless nights and would nod off in his chair. Sometimes for 20 minutes. Sometimes for 2 minutes. The doctors told us to just let him sleep in his chair. Let him sleep wherever/whenever he could. Don't move him. Just let him sleep.

On this very afternoon, while dad was writing his blog he kept nodding off. I worried his laptop would fall on the floor. When I saw dad was dozing, head resting to the side, I would quietly walk over to him, and try moving the laptop to a more secure area...

I would barely touch the laptop, and dad would jerk awake and immediately start typing again like nothing happened. 

"What are you doing?!" He barked at me. 

"I was just trying to.. You fell asleep.. I was going to move.. So it wouldn't fall on the floor!"

"Don't touch my computer!" He barked again.

15 minutes later dad would nod off again. His arms resting at his side. The computer teetering in movement with his breathing. Again I tried moving the laptop. Plus I thought maybe he would be more comfortable. And I wanted to put a blanket over him. It was November, after all. But just as I touched the mere corner of the screen... 

"Don't touch my computer!" And dad was instantly alert, tapping away at the computer like nothing happened.

 

 

It was both funny and beautiful.

 

 

That room will never be the same without my dad. But it gave me a lot of cherished memories.

 

I couldn't/wouldn't want for anything else on my birthday.

Well... that... and the L.A. Kings beating Toronto @Staples Center!

 

Which they did 2-1. Oh Canadaaaaaaaa!

 

 

 

** My apologies for the blog repost. I wanted to correct the above month when my dad passed away, but my Apple doesn't like to be edited by non Apple devices and messed up the entire blog. Children. What are you gonna do?

Or maybe he just needs to come out already

As bisexual. At the very least.

Not that it's a bad thing. Just amusing to those (in the know) when he acts like a gun toting straight tough guy, but then messages me wanting to have sex with me while some guy is fucking him in the ass.

"Interested?"

No.

Furthermore, having the audacity to talk shit about me, repeatedly, rather than just walking away.

Burden no beasts

"Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, girl... You're a pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty girl... Pretty, pretty, such a pretty, pretty, pretty girl... Come on baby please, please, please..."

Sorry, Mick. It seems she's just not into you.

Yup.

In 2012, my long term chaotic relationship finally came to an end. Shortly after, I happened to meet a guy who's marriage had also come to an unfortunate end. He told me on our first date he starred in porn, but retired. Kind of. "I'm retired but I still pick up scenes here and there..." 

Much like,

"I'm 100% lesbian except for having sex with my husband." 

Whatever. I didn't care. We liked each other. The moon and stars aligned.

It didn't matter to me if he was still shooting scenes or not. We're both adults. Educated. Smart. Responsible. I wanted to blow off steam. Have fun. Do our thing. Privately. Discreetly. He never once asked, "Want to come on set some time? Check things out?" BUT if he had, I would have gone. If he had asked, I would have considered shooting a scene with him. Perhaps. One day. Considered it. If the timing was right. Sure, why not? I liked him. I liked having sex with him.

Why "one day" and now then? My dad.

It would have broken dad's heart if he had found out. I had a lot of freedom growing up. A lot. With all my bullshit, dad got my sense of humor, and direction. Looking back, I really did verbally, albeit playfully, beat him up sometimes. He understood. 

I wasn't about to break my dad's heart.  

Besides...

That guy never asked me to shoot a scene with him. He wanted to date (a regular) girl to have fun with. And so we did. We had a few fun nights. Enjoyed each other's company. Did our thing. And as all casual relationships hit the neb, we too drifted apart, in separate directions, onward to the next thing in our individual lives.

But...

Not before he went and told a bunch of people about us, and the nights we had.

Nice guy, huh?

I got emails from total strangers for months afterwards. Most names I didn't recognize. Some names I did. "(So-and-so) told me/us about you... "

What a creep.

Still, I saw the superficiality of what he had done and let time fade the matter.

He once told me that he, and other men in porn with whom he's had this conversation with, at least one time in their adult performing career, will get a little mentally twisted about women, sex, and money. Does she really want to have sex with me? Or is she just there for the money. To clear their heads, he said a porn guy will then seek "regular girls" to have sex with. 

Is it true? 

Makes sense. I can see that. Most "regular girls" who grew up as I did, however, aren't going to want to fuck you once they learn you're a porn guy. Watch your movies, sure. Get attention from you, sure. Fuck you, no. But that's all debatable.

And, I'm not most girls.

Nonetheless,

I was raised a gentlewoman. Genteel. Discreet. Old fashion. All personal business taken care of behind closed doors regardless how faint or severe.

I realize this isn't the way you young kids take care of business today. You guys take your dramas to social media. But for those of us who want to return personal lives behind closed doors, 'Taming Of The Shrew' is necessary. Plaidskirttorpedoes.com

While adult entertainment isn't my career, I have, and will continue, to be an adult, and entertain.

Privately

Discreetly

Discriminatingly 

For pleasure.  

Make sense?

I know. I know. I'm a horrible person.

"I've walked for miles and my feet are hurting

All I want is you to make love to me..."

Geez, Mick. She's just not into you.

Walk those miles in the (opposite) direction. 

Move on.

Why the tension?

This isn't an episode of PORN! Like TV show THE VOICE, but for porn. Withal, even if it WERE an episode of PORN! and those 4 male porn coaches were actual porn mentors, we all know which coach I would pick. Don't Oui?

Rhetorical question. Don't answer that. My inbox is full.

You know. I know, you know.

In which case, I redirect your attention to: 

While adult entertainment isn't my career, I have, and will continue, to be an adult, and entertain.

Judge me, judge others, however you want. But if (you) get dishonorable with me on social media, hey just a reminder, I have the means to repercuss' your conduct.

1.) You just look like a rejected bitter ass. 

Yup.

2.) Perhaps you should have used an untraceable method of contact before texting me M/M bisexual things like...

Well, let me put it this way, in a semi automatic hand gun-language even YOU can understand: It's the one-bullet theory. Six guns pointed at me. I can only point my gun at one person. And since I have the means to throw (you) under the bus...

Now, I could be wrong but, once written declarations provided by an individual is sent and received from the first party to the intended second party... That second party doesn't need your permission to show whoever the fuck I want.

"Am I hard enough... Am I rough enough... Am I rich enough... I'm not too blind to see... I'll never be your beast of burden... So let's go home and draw the curtains... Music on the radio... Come on baby make sweet love to me..."

Such a pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty... pretty, pretty GIRL.

Now who wants to give me birthday spankings!