Great Sex

Scattered Thoughts On Older Age And Sex

/ Gardy Loo Pismire / 2 Comments

Things are going fairly well at this end of the earth. We have re-settled after we evacuated from the Camp Fire and the Amaryllis has bloomed for the holidays.

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The past few weeks I’ve been painting and wrapped more presents than I care to remember.

The new “Happy Holiday” 2 seater hot tub came. Getting that tub up the back stairs was a bit daunting but now our backs are loving the warm water and our muscles thank us everyday. Of course, falling down said stairs did make the hot tub a mandatory requirement at least until the bruises disappear.

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Funny thing about that 2 seater…it reminds me of the first indication that B was beginning to have a mid-life crisis…a two seater sports car that mysteriously appeared in our garage. From there it progressed to the affair. I think I will make the lock downs on the hot tub so tight that only I can open them…a chastity belt for the hot tub.

Today I went to the doctor and found out I am a walking heart attack waiting to happen. My cholesterol is a whopping 303 and the bad is steady 224. I think it is time to have DNR tattooed to my chest. The doc is putting me on meds and suggests I go vegan. Oh and there was also that…” let’s get a thumb wrap for that appendage, let’s up the thyroid meds and maybe you should start running…you are going to need a new knee soon anyway so why don’t you just blow out the one that you have got!”

Years ago I was a vegetarian. I baked my own bread twice a week and grew my own food. My hippie years were healthy and carefree…getting old is a bitch. I wish I could say I walked 30+ years ago in a pot induced haze but I can’t… I opted for the love-ins instead. I think I may have gotten it wrong.. that too much sex and too little drugs thing… because at this point in my life it has reversed and frankly doctor induced “old age” drugs are a lot more concerning than a joint. I think the more sex and less drugs of my younger years was a much better option than what is available to me today. Now I am left to only dream of those good times…when I can remember them at all.

One of my adult children is urging me to try cannabis gummies to mellow me out in my old age. I have to admit that I have considered it but I am afraid that I might never get off the sofa if I did. Also, I have never been one for marijuana…it always made me paranoid and after B’s affair and feeling like I was crazy for those three years I am not sure that being anything less than fully present would be a good thing for me. There is nothing enduring about paranoid.

Yesterday as I was returning home I listened to a podcast which encouraged each person listening to celebrate and create for themselves a designated Day Of Compassion. This means waking up with intension of showing compassion and helping others whenever the opportunity presents itself or creating those opportunities throughout the day yourself. Doing things like thanking the woman who cleans the restrooms and telling her how much it means to you to know that when you use the bathroom you can always count on it being clean and fresh thanks to her hard work. Buying a McDonald’s food card for the person on the street so you know that they have something warm in their stomach. Noticing and commenting to your husband and kids when they help you or others. Just being there for someone in need no matter how big and small.  So I have decided to schedule my Compassion Day for January 3. I will let you know what discoveries I make and what opportunities presented themselves.

 

Letting Go Sex

/ Gardy Loo Pismire / 3 Comments

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Sex to you means:

Release

Satisfaction

Something to do on a Friday night

Orgasm

Happiness

Closeness

For you sex is something other than it really is

For we both know

I could be Sally or Jane

Or any number of other women

Who you would like to seduce

Any number of women who are younger, skinnier

And who have better knees with which to ride

The bucking bronco

Sex to me since you said you did not have “the love and passion necessary to sustain our relationship”:

Confusion

Sadness

Silent tears fall

Embarrassment

Thinking I’m not good enough

Wanting to protect myself

To wear flannel nightgowns like my grandmother

Anger and despair

Not wanting to move during the act

In order to reduce mutual pleasure

Building walls

Thinking about doing my nails as we engage

I don’t understand

We have always had great sex.

Still do

No fake orgasms here

But the dynamics are changing

And after 30+ years

I find that I am dreading it

That I no longer want you that close to me

To be that intimate within me

Or connected to me

Enjoying me

Exploring what is left of me

Since you have wrung me out

Physically and mentally

I want someone who will enjoy

This sexual living being

Who gives of myself

So easily and well

As we roll over the sheets

A woman who knows how to pleasure a man

And who gives all of herself in the endeavor

So the next time you look at my face

While you are indulging

Know that I am beginning to float out of my body

And into the arms of a lover

Who will once again treasure all that I have to give

Sexual and otherwise

Because while you may not appreciate what you have

There are plenty who will

Woodie 2

/ Gardy Loo Pismire / 2 Comments

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You want to make love to me.

I……. see

Is this to bring us closer?

Or to confirm to yourself that the fireworks are not there?

Is this to see what you have already promised yourself?

That nothing I can do is good enough

Including sex

Or are you just horny?

A horny man with a wife

Laying beside you

And heaven forbid

You would not want to break your marriage vows

But you have if only in your head

You want all life can offer

A fifty-five year old man

The sex, the admiration, and everything your way

You want love passion and more fireworks

Yet, you have none for me

No love, no passion

Only a big fat woodie

Or do you really have a hooker in your bed

And is that woman me?

If so…

Leave the $1,000 on the bedside table

And get the fuck out

Better Than A Shirt

/ Gardy Loo Pismire / Leave a comment

Last Christmas, after a crack B made about all the shirts and ties he had received over the years for the holidays, I gave him a bathrobe instead. But after contemplating his “joke” I realized he was right. My present giving had gotten a little boring just like our marriage had been for several years. I decided right then and there that this year I would give him something he would never forget.

If you know B you also know that he has devoted the last several years to playing the bagpipes after a trip to Scotland got him hooked. His favorite band is The Red Hot Chili Pipers but unfortunately they only play on the East Coast when they tour away from their home base of Scotland. So what is a girl to do? She buys airline tickets to New York, calls son West to see if the folks can stay with him at his pad, and she buys tickets to see the band at B.B. King’s Bar and Grill. That is where we were last night and the blokey bagpipers were amazing! Watching B watching them was the best gift I could have given myself. The joy on his face and the challenge that stirred his soul brought tears to my eyes. It was in short…one of the best nights ever!!!

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We arrived in New York at 11:30 p.m. Friday. West was here to pick us up. It was great to see our son and also see how well he is doing for himself. The view of Manhattan from his condo is amazing and his home is sporty and chic like a young man’s pad should be. But hell, we are only here for 60 hours so we had to get the show on the road. So off to bed we went only to be greeted by the sun a few hours later.

The next morning we went to the City Diner. The food is amazing and my stuffed french toast was incredible.

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We visited Central Park where we embarrassed West by riding the carousel like a couple of kids. We stopped and talked to Big Bird, who was with Elmo, and posed for pictures with the two icons, while West tried his damnedest to disappear behind a tree. It’s nice to know we can still embarrass our children no matter what their age!

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We also visited the Plaza Hotel, went into the New World Trade Center, took the subway, gave the Trump Tower the finger, went to St. Patrick’s Cathedral, saw Times Square and Broadway, had an amazing pub experience at The Dead Rabbit (voted one of the world’s best bars), ate New York pizza & cheesecake, while drinking just a wee too much.

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So here it is early morning Monday and we are packing to return home to our “real” lives. We enjoyed each others company immensely, had great sex,  and got to see the things we enjoy most about the other. Divorce felt about as close to us as the sun as we spent our anniversary just being happy with the way things are…undefined.

In short, it was a weekend we will never forget, and if I do say so myself…it was much better than a shirt!!!!

Porn

/ Gardy Loo Pismire / 1 Comment

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The other day I mentioned porn and that got me to thinking. After much consideration I have come to the unequivocal conclusion that men should be forever banned from the making of porn films. Not only that they should not be able to write porn, direct porn, or cast the stars of these low budget features; they probably shouldn’t be able to watch them either.

I will confess right here I am not a big fan of the genre. I don’t like how women are demeaned and objectified. I don’t like “please me no matter what” attitudes of the men involved. But most of all I don’t like the plots. Actually, there are no real plots and that is exactly where the trouble lies.

Men make porn the same way they played with their toy cars when they were kids.  First off, they look for the most elusive or expensive model there is. Always.Who cares about what the color is as long as it’s a Porsche! This is followed by further scrutiny about how they will look driving the car and how fast can they can get into it and go. Next up: Leather or cloth seats? Pumped up tires or standard? With a bra or without? Essentially nothing has changed. Just pull it out back and let it rip. Banging into as many as they can becomes the name of the game, both young and old.

Now, I am not advocating more porn but I know that if women made porn there would be real plots. Instead of sex occurring one minute after the show began, it would take at least a half hour of fancy dresses with numerous costume changes, plenty of castles, and lots kissing and foreplay. The sets wouldn’t be sleazy formica kitchen countertops but fancy feather beds, lush tropical beach settees, and foods like grapes, whipped cream and caviar acting as aphrodisiacs.

I guarantee you that if women made porn the actors would all have straight dicks and perfect teeth. The men would have normal sized tools instead of scary looking tree trucks and the woman would all be able to walk upright instead of bent-over due to the size of their breasts. The actors would all manage to look like your fantasy lover not something that was drug in off of the street. And the sex act itself, well, it would last exactly 22.2 minutes because we all know what happens to our tender parts if you go much longer than that. No woman should ever be put in the position where she has to say, “You are wearing out your welcome.” THAT look of “GET THE HELL OUT” that always crosses the woman’s face in man-made porn would never occur in a film created by gals.

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If women made porn they would turn it into a series in which the viewer knew everything about the characters and cared for them like their own family members. Debbie would do Dallas but she would also do it in the blooming rose gardens of Versailles. By the end of the show you would know all of Debbie’s friends, her parents and her favorite food. She would be a fully developed person, not just a sex machine. And while Debbie and Grant were getting it on in the opera box but we would also get to see the Joffrey Ballet set the mood as they performed a portion of The Nutcracker at the same time.

You see, if women made porn it would be something grand.It would be something your husband would call you about to remind you to chill the wine because tonight is “our night to watch Upstairs and Downstairs too.”  And if there were English accents involved it would be all the better to set the mood.

Women based porn would be something women wanted to watch and men too. It would increase desire and promote safe sex. And I am willing to bet if this were the type of porn that we spent watching with our partner we would all be having a whole lot more pleasurable and sexy sex instead of demeaning sex…and isn’t that what the goal should be in the first place?

 

While The Cat’s Away…

/ Gardy Loo Pismire / 4 Comments

Okay, if I am honest here the whole “DRESS UP FOR YOUR MAN” thing weirds me out a little, especially at my age.  When I was 20 I could pull it off because…well…I was 20! Yet, as a feminist dressing up for a man often feels degrading and so out-datedly contrived. And as a mother.. yuck…just yuck…thinking that someday the men in my three daughter’s lives will be oglingimages-9 them as they flounce about in an effort to try to please their husbands.imgres

 

Yet, I do recognize the fact that men are visual creatures and that after being married for so many years that sex can become a tad boring imgres-2 unless you do something to spice it up a bit. But what to wear without looking like a chubby little schoolgirlgirls-skipping-school-costume that really sends a really perverted message?images-14 It is always a dilemma for a not-so-skinny 50 + year old woman. images-18

 

So I decided while the cat’s away this mouse will play…with different styles of sex-wear. I’m starting with the easiest first…stockings.

Frankly, I was surprised at the variety of stockings that are available these days. When I was 20 years-old fishnets were really risque and only the “bad” girls wore them. Now perhaps I should have been “bad” a little more often so I have decided to regress and try these on for size.

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I mean seriously if these don’t catch a man’s eye he is stone cold dead.images-3 But frankly, it would be helpful if the manufacturer included a tutorial on how to put these on so the seam goes STRAIGHT up the back of your legs instead of swerving side to side like a cheap drunk.

FISHNETS have come a long way baby! My oh my, the choices are mind numbing these days. Bows, lace, and streamers are now standard fishing gear allowing you to reach even lower depths than before.

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I have to stop here to confess that I’ve always wondered why these types of stockings are called fishnets. (Yes, those ARE the crazy questions that keep my mind spinning out of control) Yet, as I wrote this, it occurred to me that wearing fishnets have one purpose and one purpose only….trolling for fish… and once you catch that fish in your net it is yours until you decide to throw it back. In this case, size really does influence that decision.

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I never knew until today that you could buy stockings with writing on them. What a great idea! I know a lot of women who would like TALK TO MY LAWYER climbing the back of their legs as they were walking away from their cheater husbands. zu6932816_main_tm1388876938YOU DON’T DESERVE ME and FUCK YOU would probably be other popular choices.

 

There are also the RICH BITCH hose. I propose that any woman who wears these sparklers should demand a real diamond for each of the fake ones that grace her legs.zu6295865_main_tm1390849776

 

 

Then there are the WICKED WITCH OF THE WEST thigh highs. zu6369623_main_tm1385773170You’ll have to buy your own flying monkeys if you want to add an element of danger to your sex life.

There are also the sentimental I LOVE YOU type of nylons.zu20591130_main_tm1414434537 Somehow I imagine this just wouldn’t look good on a 50+ year-old broad and I shudder to think of being in a car accident and having the paramedics cutting them off with an onslaught of rubberneckers witnessing this kinky event. I am sure that those paramedics would never be able to work again due to the trauma they had endured.

Finally, a burning question that I have always had is this… do stockings go with flats? I have bad knees and wearing shoes like the models wear  would bring me to my knees which, I confess, is probably where my husband would like to see me, if you know what I mean. But seriously, doesn’t it look like something is missing here?    images-22

So I am off to the store for some sexy seven story high stilettos, a knee brace, and a tube of Ben Gay. I  can only hope that I don’t fall off of them as I greet B at the door wearing almost nothing but a red face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sizzle

/ Gardy Loo Pismire / 7 Comments

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The other afternoon B and I were stretched out on the sofa just enjoying the time spent together when all of a sudden he did it…one small touch sent sparks to my nipples and I groaned. Not one of the quiet as a mouse groans but the kind that radiate deep below your belly in that soft and slightly wet place that knows you are suddenly exploding into sexual awakening and just wants to help get you in the mood…quickly!

“What was that noise?” Andre yells down from the family room upstairs. “Did someone step on the dogs tail again?”

Oh, God, please …. NO. Stay upstairs. JUST STAY UPSTAIRS.

B reaches for me and all the struggles of the past year seem to melt away. I am happy that we still have this lovely hot connection. A place where we can “get into” each other once again and let our hurts vanish for awhile.

B starts to put the tease on me. His kisses yield my body and I melt into him. He begins brushing me softly and then with slightly more pressure, so that my back arches higher, wanting to him to reach those high places that often get ignored. Another audible sigh starts in my toes with its attending electrical current snapping awake those parts of my body that are still in “kid induced limbo” and escapes from my lips…”ohhhhh…myyyyy” I whisper with delight and a sense of impatience. To borrow a phrase from my friend, Marvin Gaye, “Lets get it on!”

B gets the hint and  whispers “Come on baby, lets go upstairs.” I consider the odds of completing this fantasia while our children are awake. One kid, the most perceptive one is gone. According to my calculations that gives us delightfully low only  661/3% chance of being interrupted or “caught.”  A bookie would faint with those odds at this house.  I quickly decide its a chance I can live with. I even let the dog in the house so he won’t be barking and whinning at the door surely killing this arson-setting spark that we have set of which has the possibility of setting this place on fire.

“Ohhhh…Myyyyy!”

This feels like the old days. The Lets See What You Are Made Of kinds of days. They are those raw, needy, urgent, life affirming, first coming together moments of young ferocious sex. That kind that shakes you down to your core and tears open you heart with the kind of lust that has enough energy to change to course of rivers and perhaps even part the Red Sea.

I would like to say we made it to the comfort of our bed but I can’t. The bathroom provided multiple view points and B is harder than the granite countertop that I laying across. My legs grip B like a cowgirl riding bareback, calves against his muscular flank. I must say I was tempted to make a dramatic sweep to clear the counter but I will confess that the thought of what it would cost to replace my Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue (my ONLY expensive I WANT TO FUCK YOUR LIGHTS OUT scent)  and my favorite #242 lipstick made me hold back instead of sail. I was filled with him… all of him. My head.. with sexy “take me now” thoughts of him. My nose… with the musky scent of his body. My eyes… taking in the delightful naked sight of him taking in me, and well, those other parts too. It was hot but with a children-are-in-the-house type of seductive quiet. It was oh-so-sexy and desperately needed.

Everything was perfect…until the dog started howling. Loud, long, and off-key. A fingernails on the blackboard sound.

“Andre,” I manage to pant/yell from the bathroom. “Please go let the dog in.”

I hear the door slide open and the howling stops. But we continue on for as long as age, children in the house, and howling dogs let you. And I am reminded once again…this is why I married this man!

Later, in the evening Andre looks at me with a blush on his cheeks and a grin on his face. He is one of the smartest people I know and the autism just adds to it because he recognizes things and tunes into things that most of us don’t.

“Mom, did you and Dad have a good time this afternoon?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know this afternoon when the dog was howling.”

“I’m sorry I don’t understand”

“Haven’t you figured out yet that every time you and Dad have sex the dog howls?” he replies with a laugh. ” I’ve noticed he’s been howling quite a bit lately.”

Now it is my turn to blush.

Damn dog!

 

 

 

 

Ooo-La-La…Sexy Men In Kilts

/ Gardy Loo Pismire / 1 Comment

I never thought that men in kilts would do anything for me. I mean, after all, knobby knees don’t make me weak in the joints. And hairy legs just make me look at my own and run for the razor. Men in knee highs…well, it is the stuff that horror movies are made of and I have never really had the inclination to lift a skirt regardless of who it belongs to. But this weekend might have changed all that.

Over the past four years or so I have had to get used to watching my husband walk around in a kilt. This kilt-wearing began after a trip to Scotland. I was interviewing a bagpipe maker and B went along for the ride. As we exited the quaint shop in Sterling he said, “I think I want to play the bagpipes.” I almost fell to my knees. First off, B had never played an instrument in his entire life and even the best piper can at times sound like a goat caught in a fence. The odds were not in his favor for becoming the next “Bach of the Bagpipes.” Secondly, for the most part men like B just don’t wear kilts. They wear hardhats, they wear steel-toed boots and they wear Calvin’s tighty whities. They wear those whities because boxers make them highly uncomfortable… there is not enough fabric to protect and hold up what lies within. So an open-air let-’em hang kilt…forget it…I just couldn’t imagine such a thing would ever happen. I was wrong.

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Not only did B buy his pipes he came home and found a pipe band to teach him how to play. It was only a short time later that this Irish lad came home attired in a Scotman’s clothes complete with a sporin. The first time I saw him I looked at those knee socks and thought, “Well there is no way we will ever have sex again!” But eventually I got used his tartan as his ability to play and his demand increased. Now he is a full-fledged member of the band and spends time performing at funerals, store openings and Celtic Festivals. But still the kilt just didn’t do much for me…until this weekend…Really.

Now I don’t know if it was the whiskies talking or the rain but about 2 hours after I started drinking those men in plaid started to look mighty fine. The more I drank the better they looked and those knee socks began to even look like something that might come handy in the bedroom.

And then I spotted my husband… glory be…that Irishman looked better than any Scot in the place. As we stood listening to the rockin’out pipers of Celtica I put my hand on his butt and…oh laa laa…no thick blue jean material between me and his Calvins and… it felt round and good. Really…the perfect handful.

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“Hmmm, maybe I have been missing out on something,” I thought. “I better test this out some more.”

So I did.

That butt felt better the second time around. And I found out the benefit of a man in a kilt. Just where those folds open … how…and why. But I’ve never been one to kiss and tell. Guess you just better go out and find yourself your own man in a kilt so you can find out just exactly what they wear (or don’t) under there and grab your own handful…you won’t be disappointed.

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I Got Me Some

/ Gardy Loo Pismire / 4 Comments

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Last month I bought a SEX calendar. No, not one with one position for each day of the year but one to keep track of just how much sex we were having after a not so great comment from B about “slipping back” where sex was concerned. I was pissed as it appeared that the blame was being leveled at me and I was determined to do something about it if only to prove a point. This calendar now hangs on the bathroom wall for easy access so no one “forgets” when we did the dirty deed. Problem is with three teens in the house one just can’t be writing SEX all over the place especially special days like their birthdays. So I have had to become inventive in order to keep track of who did what to whom.

My first entry “B fixed the closet” was a little farfetched but I figured it would work until I wrote it a second time and Gracie said, “What is wrong with your closet and why is dad always having to fix it?”

So I then went to a capital S with circle around it. Andre asked me why I was marking Superman on my calendar. Although it may fit B in the bedroom I quickly got the point that I needed to change my records keeping ways.

Paul asked with the star was about and if it had anything to do with the cycles of the moon.

Frankly, all this calendar watching by the kids was  getting to be a tad annoying. I mean can’t we have any privacy even if it is just on paper?

So I have had to invent a series of codes

IDIOT-I did it on top

GHO- Got him off meaning there was nothing in it for me

GMO- The crops have come in and it was all about me

FTD- F***** twice in a day (we have yet to need this one yet)

BS-B was sick (yeah I am not taking the rap for not having sex when you have a fever and fall asleep at 2 pm

CASS-I was sick.

And so it goes.

Unfortunately, we have not had much chance to use these secret sex codes as of late. Between freezing in Tibet, me in Chicago for a week, Nicole with grand babies here necessitating Gracie sleeping in our room, B being sick, me being sick…well, let’s just say the odds have been stacked against us. But yesterday Nicole left, Gracie returned to her own room and late at night we had sex. Finally. Happy, Joyous, Lovely. SEX.

Let’s just say the earth moved and the richter scale said it was a 5.0  which was not bad for two old folks with kids in the house.

Onto my calendar went GRITS

But in morning after taking the kids to school as I was cleaning my bathroom  I noticed handwriting scrawled on the calendar other than my own. It read “Can you keep it down please some of us are trying to get some sleep!”

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How embarrassing! I think we will buy the little dears ear muffs for Christmas next year!

 

 

 

 

For Violet-My Sex Life In Tibet

/ Gardy Loo Pismire / 2 Comments

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This is for Violet. Because Violet wants to know how my sex life went while over in Tibet. She wonders if this 29 year married couple who are temporarily without the bat ears of their children will fare as they explore Asia together. I promised I would give her the juicy details about whether or not you can have sex in a monastery… I am a woman of my word.

January 11- Leave San Francisco for Shanghai. The plane is cold. I rub strategic spots on B’s body in hopes that he will warm me up under the flimsy cotton blanket. No dice. He’s not that kind of guy. Reminds me of the time we were naked on the nude beach in Kauai. He passed then too but to this day swears it was the pneumonia he was in the process of developing that waylaid his libido while on laying naked on the sand all those many years ago.

January 12-Arrive at Shanghai after an 11 hour flight. I survived. I can only assume it is some sort of cosmic miracle but hell we have 7 more flights to take so I am not taking bets yet. Eat some incredible Chinese food and crash after promising one another that tomorrow will be our “special” day.

January 13- Take green subway line to subway line 16. Take bus 1068 to Xinchang where we enjoy the “Venice” of Shanghai. Reverse process only it is rush hour. We are packed into the subway like sardines when I feel someone grab my left boob. I turn and smile at Dave for being so frisky…only it isn’t Dave at all. It is an intoxicated old man with missing teeth. I give him the death stare and he smiles. Okay, that is one “feel up” for the day, zero sex. We get back to the hotel room and defrost our parts. Since we understand you can get in serious trouble (think prison) for “doing it” in front of an open window we opt for something more like home…the bed. Great foreplay. Fantastic sex. No children anywhere around. No wonder!

January 14- Land in Lhasa, Tibet. Upon touchdown I get an immediate headache. Altitude sickness descends. We get to our room which has old single pane, handmade wood framed windows. The walls appear to have frost on them at first glance. We see our breaths all night as we talk across to one another in the rigid, very hard and not going anywhere twin beds. We decide that self-preservation is our best bet as we crawl under yet another blanket in our light thermals, heavy thermals, 2 pairs of socks, pajamas, gloves, blacava covering our heads and a coat on top. Wake up numerous times during the night feeling like an elephant is sitting on our chests as our hearts think about giving out. It is doubtful anything is going to rise this night as frost bite is a definite possibility.

January 15-It’s gotten colder. So has our room. Need I say more?

January 16-Can you believe that it is still colder? Our room is cold enough to be used as a morgue except that unlike a morgue there is nothing stiff in this room. I am thinking the next vacation will be to a warm clothing optional place with free booze. Lots of free booze. Even tho I am not a pot smoker I suspect that the next trip will involve it because after this journey I am sure I will be missing parts and will need a medicinal high to forget the feeling of phantom pain where my limbs used to be.

January 17-Shigatse. Well what do you know…a warm hotel room…with twin beds. What is it with the twin beds for goodness sake!!!! Luckily, love is in the air along with an unidentifiable smell that is not either one of us even though we had not showered for so long. No…it is something unique and different enough to turn your stomach. But we refuse to let it defeat us and we do one for the Gipper. In the morning everyone in our group wonders why we are smiling so much that our teeth hurt. Of course they are all under 30 without children… but someday they will know why those smiles were plastered all over our faces.

January 18-Bad news. The Rongbuk Monastery is closed. I am deflated with this bit of news as I really wanted to be faced with ethical decision of whether it is proper to have sex in a monastery and see whether the devil or angel on my shoulder would win out. Sigh. Instead we are booked into a hotel in Shegar a small town of about 1,000 way out in the middle of nowhere but about three hours from the Mt. Everest base camp. The good news…dinner is a delicious full bodied noodle soup. The bad news (I know you are asking how could you have BAD news on a vacation you whiny, spoilt b****)…the temperature is -16 while the sun is still up. There is no water in our room and the bucket that you fill with water to flush the toilet is frozen solid. This time we sleep with one pair of light thermals, 2 pairs of heavy thermals, gloves, three pairs of socks, blacava, sleeping bag and down parka in TWIN BEDS. But really we don’t sleep. Instead we gasp for air and watch as my coat emits thousands of static electric charges as it lights up the room. SEX…doesn’t even enter our minds as we just struggle to survive.  The next morning we find the people who run the hotel sleeping around a huge coal/dung stove. They are walking around with smiles on their faces….hmmmm!

January 19-After almost being blown off of Mt. Everest by the wind we make it back to Shigatse. Half our group look like death warmed over but when we end up at an Sichuan restaurant eating amazing food and there is no yak in sight, the color returns to the faces of all. The room is once again pleasant and warm. Two blissful sighs are heard around the world and Mt. Everest rocks.

January 20-Back to Lhasa and the first hotel only this time I ask if we might have a room with something other than twin beds. So we are put in room 207 which I am happy to report it is an inside room and is at least 20 degrees warmer than the first room. Are you spotting a trend here, Violet? Warm=happy=sex. Yet, during and afterwards we are panting hard like we just ran a marathon and seriously question whether our hearts will explode due to this high altitude exertion. Getting old should = purchasing larger and larger amounts of life insurance especially when getting it on while in the two mile club without the benefit of an airplane.

January 21-Fly back to Shanghai by way of Xian. We are exhausted and spent when we land at 9:30 p.m..

January 22-Wake up at 3 am for an early morning flight to Jinan. B has business. Attend a late night dinner of fish, fish and more fish.Eyeballs of fish linger in our psyche and we can’t get past that tonight.

January 23- Violet, its warm…do you even have to ask?

January 24-Fly back to Shanghai. We leave tomorrow for San Francisco. I’ll leave this one for you to fantasize about my dearest Violet. I leave for an 8 hour trip in the morning.