Author Archives: Miss Dyyna

Herb Phyllo Tomato Tart

This is my absolute favorite-ist thing on the whole planet to do with tomatoes in the summer! It takes a little work to put the layers together, but it’s worth it when you literally layer in the flavor. A very addicting, tasty treat – delicious straight from the oven, room temp or even cold. It doesn’t last long in my house because I eat it all myself!


Servings: 16 squares
Time: 15 minutes active; about 45 minutes total
Price: ~$10.50 total; $0.65 per square
Nutrition (per serving): 
Calories: 103.2
Protein: 4g
Fat: 1.5g
Saturated fat: 1.5g
Carbohydrates: 12.9g
Fiber: 0.95g
Sodium: 131.4mg
Cholesterol: 6.2mg


  • 7 sheets (about 7 oz) phyllo dough
  • 2 Tbsp EVOO
  • 1 1/2 oz parmesan, grated
  • 2 Tbsp mixed fresh herbs, chopped (I used thyme, basil and oregano)
  • 1/2 lb onions, sliced very thinly
  • 2 lb tomatoes, sliced very thinly
  • 3 oz smoked mozzarella, grated
  • 1/2 tsp red pepper flakes
  • 1/2 tsp black pepper


  1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Meanwhile line a large cookie sheet with foil and spray with cooking spray. Set up all your ingredients around the cookie sheet.
  2. First, lay one sheet of phyllo on the sheet. Brush lightly with EVOO and sprinkle about 1 Tbsp parmesan and a small amount of herbs evenly over top. Repeat until you have all seven phyllo sheets dressed.
  3. Top with onion slices and mozzarella. Then lay tomato slices, overlapping slightly. Sprinkle with red pepper flakes and black pepper.
  4. Bake 30 minutes. Cool slightly, cut and serve.

MegaDon: The Surprise, Part One

For the next six months, we had our little Covid sex bubble. I went to his house frequently where we did more of the delicious, pleasurable same – Negronis, cooking, eating, drinking and fucking. As the weather warmed into spring, we moved some of these activities outside. We’d take our Negronis on a stroll through his gardener-planted and maintained culinary garden. He even had the gardener add two artichoke plants because I mentioned how much I loved them.

Sometimes we’d take the Negronis to the hot tub naked. It shared a barrier wall with the infinity lap pool. To demonstrate his prowess and agility, he would get up from the hot tub, stand on the wall and launch himself into the pool to swim several laps. He would come back over to the hot tub side and give me a big self-approving smile before moving over for a kiss or two. As I sipped my Negroni, he might be rubbing my feet or telling a tall tale while I took periodic glances through the trees to the eastern mountains.

Before going back in to work on dinner, we would rinse off in his personal spa. It was structure just a few steps away from the pool with a bathroom, sauna, gym and shower with a floor to ceiling window looking north into the forest that bordered his property. In between that building, and the one next to it that housed a game room, was a pond filled with fish he named and enjoyed caring for. Beyond the structures around the pool was an outdoor grilling area complete with a large grill and separate spit where you could roast an entire pig plus outdoor wood fireplace and many lounge chairs scattered around.

Sometimes we would take our Negronis outside on the side of the house where they was a beautiful long table for outdoor eating and a wood fireplace to warm up cool evenings. Two cushioned chairs to one side of the dining table had a wood table in-between and were all placed facing the vineyards. We would nibble on cheeses, crackers and charcuterie while watching high flying birds as well as his cats chasing the low flying ones. As the months past, it was like a time-lapse video as the vines developed leaves, flowers then tiny green grapes.

During one these lovely evenings, we got to chatting about our bedroom time. Since sex was always completely naked, and much of the time before and after sex as well, I inquired if he liked lingerie and he replied very much so. He asked me to bring some, but I don’t ‘wear and share’ so implored him to buy me some new items that just he and I would enjoy together. That way he could also pick exactly what he wanted me to see me in. He said he had never bought anyone lingerie before. This was hard to believe after two wives, several girlfriends and simply being 69 years of age, but I expressed how special I felt that he would buy me some. I gave him my measurements and had nearly forgotten about the conversation when several weeks later I received a series of photos by text of some of his purchases. All of it was lacy and mostly black, but a few deep purple and light pink items. One photo he sent was of an outfit he had laid out on his bed. It was a one piece, black lacy bodysuit of sorts with attached stockings. It was terribly difficult and confusing to put on and not at all flattering with my long torso. The upper portion was strained trying to reach over my shoulders resulting in very awkward and uncomfortably tight material pulled up my nether regions. The accompaniment to this monstrosity were wired, black lace bunny ears. I couldn’t at all be serious about this outfit and casually left it to the side in preference for the solo lacy panties.

On one summer evening after perhaps one too many Negronis, he had started dinner and I snuck off to his bedroom closet where he kept a drawer for all my lingerie goodies. There was a floor length mirror in the room and I snapped photos of myself in black panties, purple then pink and texted them to him as he worked in the kitchen on the other side of the house. After that evening, he started periodically sexting me. My favorite was a bare chested snap from his bathroom which went down to just above his cock with smiling face included.

The summer was flying by, but relief from Covid was no where in sight. It was August, eight months after we first met, and I was growing very fond of him. We had so much easy, light-hearted fun enjoying all the pleasures of the flesh – good food, good drink and good sex. He would also provide wise counsel on our common area of work, on which he had decades of experience to share.

Two months earlier I had legally gotten married to Nerdie. Because of the pandemic it had to take place in our backyard with just a handful of people in attendance and one of my bridesmaids holding an iPad streaming it live for my family and any friends who wished to watch. MegaDon knew this day was coming. I had an engagement ring on my finger the day we met and I was very upfront about it through the entire time we dated. When we discussed the subject of marriage, he said he would never do it for a third time. His priority was companionship in a long-term relationship. I thought that put us on the same page.

Until one day that August he texted about getting together that week. His request was more urgent than usual.

“Does tomorrow evening work for you, Darlin?”

“Friday would be better…”

“I can’t Friday. My life is changing.”

“Changing how?”

“A family will be coming Saturday to live with me. I want to see you and to give you your outfits. I won’t be able to later.”

“You are breaking up with me?”

“No! I don’t want to do that!”

This was extremely peculiar. A family was coming to live with him, but he didn’t want to break up, but he won’t be able to see me later? I had no idea what to think.

I moved my schedule to be able to see him on the night requested. The evening began as it had nearly every time before with him meeting me out by the entrance fountain as I exiting my car, a hug, a peck on the cheek and and welcome walk inside to the kitchen where he was working on that evening’s Negronis.

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July 12 – this year would have been 25 years since my first date with PhD.

That’s just an insane statement partly because I don’t feel that old, but we did meet when I was 22, and partly because we’ve been broken up for nearly 8 years. 2015 feels like so many, many life times ago. My life has changed so dramatically.

Yet, I still feel sadness over PhD. What a waste of love, of memories, of connection, of time, of support, of laughs. These are my lingering thoughts after all this time, even though I now know that our relationship was all built on sand.

I met PhD in 1998 just a month or so after I graduated from college. Meeting him was the last nail in the coffin of a 3 year relationship I had with an exchange student from London that made it all the way to betrothed before I woke the fuck up and called it off.

That summer, I dreamt of playing soccer again. It was my favorite sport growing up, but I had stopped all organized sports at age 16 after knee surgery. It was a co-ed summer soccer league and I randomly got assigned to his company’s team when they didn’t have enough women sign up.

I didn’t have a job right out of school. I really had no idea what I wanted to do, so was waiting tables at a brewery/bar/night club downtown. The day of our first soccer game, I waited on two of the company executives at lunch. They recognized me as soon as I walked on the pitch that evening and I was glad to see a few familiar faces. I didn’t notice PhD, but he noticed me.

The after game ritual was to go to a midtown bar for beers. As the weeks went by, PhD and I ended up spending more and more time chatting. We hit it off pretty immediately, but physically he wasn’t really my type. His mother’s Scottish side made him a ginger – add to that pale skin and a techie desk bod. But he was taller than me, which is always a rarity, and extremely well read, curious and talked about things I had no idea of. I later found out he was separated, but technically still married when we met. Well, I guess I technically still had a BF at the time.

The season was winding down and so were our post-game bar hang outs. I learned some time later that a female co-worker he confided his smitteness of me to encouraged him to make a fucking move. He asked me on a date – watch the World Cup Final on a big screen at their offices. It fell on a weekend so we would be there alone.

It wasn’t a fancy office. Late ’90’s tech company in a downtown district. Employees all had their own offices, but with games and free food in the common areas and a big projector screen TV. During halftime, we went outside on the fire escape for a smoke and had our first kiss. After that it was on pretty fast.

I moved in to an apartment a restaurant co-worker was leaving that just happened to be across the street from a three bedroom apartment he, his sister and brother decided to rent together. Brother and sister enrolled in a local college. PhD and I spent nearly every day and night at one place or the other. Two months later, I got a more career-focused job as a fundraising assistant at the local Boys & Girls Clubs – a place I had volunteered at for a college course.

By Christmas, his brother wanted to move closer to campus and his sister dropped out and went back home to their parent’s house. So PhD and I got our first apartment together a few blocks away, and lived together for the next 17 years.

Of course, we had countless adventures and amazing times together over those 17 years. We traveled a lot – Toronto, Vancouver Island, Montreal, Puerto Rico, Munich, Hawaii, Singapore, Hong Kong, Vienna, Berlin, New Orleans, Las Vegas, Santa Barbara, Chicago, and many other US and European cities. We moved to Manhattan in 2002 after 9/11 and then California in 2007 so he could purse his dream of getting a PhD in physics.

We also went through very heartbreaking times. In one single year, his sister who struggled with mental health issues and then addiction died at 32, she was my age. Nine months later my dad, age 66, died suddenly and then one of our rescue cats that made both moves with us died.

I supported him with everything I had in me at the time – money, love and encouragement – not only in the early days when he wanted to quit smoking, but through the PhD, which took nearly 10 years in all. He quit his job as a web designer in NYC to do his science and math undergraduate requirements so he could apply to graduate school. His undergraduate degree was in computer art and design so he needed the math and science for physics. That was the first two years. He took out loans for the classes and books, and my salary paid the bills and for the vacations.

Since he was a non-traditional student in his mid-30s, there weren’t many programs that would take him, but a university in CA did. I amazingly got a job that was actually a step up in my career at the same university and off we went from Manhattan to the west coast. I was also doing my MBA at the time so crammed in four summer classes before we left and finished the final credits in CA before walking in 2008.

The transition to California was hard. We were in our own weird bubble. Too old to hang out with the beer pong-loving mid to late 20 year olds of his program and too young for the 40-somethings with kiddos at my job. But we both found our way there for seven years.

I taught myself how to culinary garden, started a food blog and taught cooking classes at the local food co-op. I moved up in my career, wrote chapters for fundraising books and spoke at a few conferences. He excelled at school and got a prestigious summer appointment in Arizona.

But now 10 years into our relationship, we were in decline – I just wasn’t aware. That year of sudden deaths was never spoken about, and while we lived together, we lived as friends and roommates.

Our sex life was shit. I would masturbate in the shower rather than have sex with him. We never talked about that either. I went to therapy to talk about it instead.

I had lingering, long term body issues that had started at age 15. I struggled from time to time with self-abuse and most days I limited myself to 1,000 calories while working out 6-7 days a week. I was self-conscious in anything I put on and would never dare wear a bathing suit. I routinely binged on food and alcohol on the weekends and then restricted myself all week long to lose the weight.

We never talked about all that either. He binged along side of me whenever I did and then every other day I wasn’t until he was approaching 40 – then freaked out and started exercising.

While in AZ, he was free for three weeks. Free from the responsibilities of home. He met a whole new set of people from across the country. When I came to meet him at the end of the program, we went to brunch with a number of the other program participants. The moment I met the blond from the Pacific NW, I had a feeling. He had already mentioned her a few times. I was familiar – the exact way I casually mentioned PhD to my London BF the summer I met PhD and London and I were breaking up.

Although he never admitted anything, when he came back he was different. Fired up. No longer patient with my body issues, self-abuse and lack of sex. Yup, he fucked her and then stayed with me another seven years – my guess is because he knew where his financial bread was buttered. With his very not generous graduate student stipend of $2,000 per month, he needed me to help him finish his PhD.

He graduated in the summer of 2013. I had put in my notice at work and was heading to culinary school. It wasn’t long before he got a job and moved to the big city. He found a furnished studio and I was in an apartment about a 90 minute drive away.

I noticed pretty early on that when I couldn’t get a hold of him by phone or text he was in the same location quite far away from his studio. Thanks, Find Friends!

We would see each other whenever we could fit it in with our crazy, different schedules, but the times together became shorter and shorter. He was starting to want to go back earlier if he visited me, and made excuses so I would have to leave early, if I came to see him.

The next year was slow, drawn out and painful.

I frequently asked if he still loved me. Several times I even asked if he was cheating. There was only silence or obfuscation.

I was mad, frustrated, impatient. Then I met Wino in a local bar. I wanted to fuck the shit out of him. The next time I saw PhD I told him I wasn’t sure what the fuck was going on with him, but that I wanted to see other people – be separated. He didn’t say much and I wasn’t asking permission.

A few months later he finally admitted it. It was a younger woman from work. They had been seeing each other for months – likely longer than he confessed to.

We didn’t break up. I naively wanted to know the underlying reasons and to see if we could repair our relationship. I didn’t know ENM existed then. For several months, we continued to see each other and I continued to ask questions. He continued with the same silence and putting me off.

I walked with my culinary degree in September 2015. Both our families flew from the East Coast. It was horrible. No one knew what was going on and as soon as I walked into the apartment after I finished class one day, there were his parents on the couch. I said hi and quickly ran upstairs making an excuse of getting out of my chef clothes when really I was trying to get out of their sight before the tears came.

We got in a fight the night before my graduation and he left me at the bar. The next morning, hung over and newly drunk and high, I hopped in the car with my culinary classmates and we sped off to school for graduation. I received two of three culinary awards given out, losing the highest GPA award by just a few points. I was proud of myself, but trying to keep it all in. I stood for the required photos with him, but avoided spending any more time with him than I needed to to keep up appearances.

Soon after, I left for three weeks to the East Coast to my family’s beach house in southern NC by myself. We had never taken separate vacations since we started dating so it was a red flag to our families. Before I left, he told me to think about what I wanted to do with our relationship. I’ll never forget how odd that sounded to me like he wasn’t in the relationship with me and didn’t have a say or an opinion. It told me all I needed to know. For nearly a year, I was trying to talk to him about everything, but it was like talking to a brick wall. How would I be able to possibly salvage and repair our relationship on my own? The answer is I couldn’t so when I returned in October, I planned a weekend in the city with him and then told him I wanted to break up.

We spent the next year actually breaking up. Separating everything from finances to furniture to the cats was slow and painful. He never talked any more about his feelings, the reasons, what he wanted. I jumped in to a rebound relationship as a distraction from the grief.

I last saw him nearly two years later when the very last thing connecting us was my name on his bank account. I went to the city to meet him. We had a drink first and then went to the bank. He only talked pleasantries – surface-level facts about his life and surface-level questions about mine. I captured that entire story in this post: “A Church, A Court Room and Then Good-Bye.”

Eight years later only that sadness remains.

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Thanks, Mom

I watch a lot of true crime and prison shows. It’s always an exciting surprise when I click through episodes of Forensic Files and randomly come across one I have not yet seen. Spoiler alert…the husband did it.

60 Days In. Cold Case Files. Inside the World’s Toughest Prisons. Jailbirds. The First 48. I Am A Killer.

On a recent, lonely two week work trip, my late night binging included Kids Behind Bars: Life or Parole. Each episode is the story of a guy (haven’t come across one about a woman yet) who committed a crime while he was a minor and then was promptly arrested, found guilty and given a life sentence. The interesting twist to these stories is that in 2012 the Supreme Court ruled that a sentence of life without parole given to children, some as young as 13, was unconstitutional. So the now men, sometimes 30+ years later, are lawyering up or appealing to nonprofit legal justice organizations to help them file for resentencing.

No one would be surprised that one common theme in Kids Behind Bars: Life or Parole is the tough, often violent, upbringing of these children who committed the crimes. Broken families. Poverty. Lack of education and opportunity. Mental health issues. Drugs and alcohol. Verbal, mental and sexual abuse.

A particularly disturbing episode involved four young adults, ages 15-21, who kidnapped a college student at night, took her to a deserted area where two of them took turns raping her, including the 15 year old. They took her car and left her there – bloody, beaten up and naked. She made her way home, called the police, and only hours later they were arrested when her car was spotted at a local convenience store and the four of them were caught on the stores’ cameras.

The episode focused on just one of the perpetrators – the 15 year boy, now 32, who was seeking resentencing under the 2012 Supreme Court ruling. He had not entered into any plea deals, went to trial and received an 141-year life sentence. The argument was that this sentence was akin to life without parole and should be considered unconstitutional.

He was black, grew up in a poor neighborhood in Ohio, and his father had been murdered defending himself during a home invasion. He reported being molested by a neighbor when he was 7 years old, started selling weed at age 9, then crack and was first consensually sexually active at age 10 with a 21 year old.

I can understand the argument that many, many people go through terrible, awful, violent, abusive childhoods and do not commit crimes like this boy. However, an overwhelming majority of men who do commit these types of crimes come from backgrounds like this one. It’s a recurring theme on this show. One mother hooked on crack gave her son to foster care where he was sexually, physically and verbally abused before running away to live on the streets. Another episode was about a poor young man of 15 who was exhibiting signs of mental health problems when he shot his neighbor.

You don’t typically see young boys/men grow up in a middle or upper class family with stability and opportunity, not even considering love, and then go out and kidnap, rob and rape.

I’m not sure why, or if it was even during this particular episode, that something my mom said probably 35 years ago resurfaced while I was watching.

She said she want to break the cycle of abuse.

I immediately teared up feeling overwhelmed with gratitude as images of my mom throughout my childhood flashed through my brain. Working late nights at different jobs that were just paychecks. Going back to school after I was born, at age 32, and then going on to not only receive her Bachelor’s Degree, but then two Master’s Degrees – all while raising three children. Going to therapy every week. Working on herself, her past and building enough strength inside herself to leave a marriage of 20+ years that was not serving her well.

My mom was born in 1944 in rural Kentucky, the middle child of three with an older brother and younger sister. Her father worked in the mine along with most of the men in the family. I never met him, but I recall from a few pictures that he was quite thin and scrawny-looking. I only met my mom’s mother once when she came to my sister’s high school graduation. I would have been 8. I’m not sure if her mother worked, but she was also an alcoholic, thin and frail.

Many of mother’s extended family were alcoholics – all who my mother blamed for losing the farm land they owned in Missouri. Her very favorite grandmother committed suicide when my mom was 10 because, my mom believed, that her husband was such an abusive alcoholic.

My mom’s sister and her two sons were alcoholics – they were apparently violent. One of these cousins actually lived quite close to me when I lived in Richmond, VA, but my mom never told me. She never wanted me to have contact with my aunt or her two sons. I met them all only once when my mom’s brother died.

My mom’s brother’s son was also an alcoholic, drug addict who went to jail for domestic abuse.

My mom doesn’t talk much about her childhood, but from time to time when I was younger, we would somehow get on the topic and she would let a few stories out. Mostly she talked about verbal and physical abuse. I have wondered if there was sexual abuse, but she never spoke about that.

Something about that show made that decades old comment about my mom wanting to break the cycle of abuse click together.

She not only wanted to change, but she actually did the incredibly hard work to make it happen. She worked, helped raise three kids, and went to school. She went to therapy for help, strength and to build herself into the person she knew she could be. She also had to handle my dad in all this, who was not at all enlightened about his own emotions, forget doing self-improvement work like going to therapy.

My life could have been very different if she had parented the way hers did. I actually saw firsthand what verbal and physical abuse looked like growing up. My childhood best friend, who lived in the same neighborhood, and I met when we were still in diapers together. We were very close until I went away to college and our lives started taking different paths.

She was the oldest with two younger brothers. They were all verbally and physically abused by their mother. Probably hundreds of times over our 18 year friendship growing up did I witness her being called downstairs and yelled at for eating one too many cookie or not finishing a chore. The screaming was accompanied by being grabbed, smacked in the face and/or hit anywhere her mother could make contact. Her brothers endured the same and her father looked the other way.

I don’t know what struggles and challenges she has faced coming to terms with her abusive childhood since we haven’t spoken in 20+ years, but I hope she has sought help and support.

What my mom did was beyond fucking powerful.

I always knew that, but I realized it in that moment of connection watching that show just how powerful and how grateful I am that my mom broke the cycle of abuse. What a fucking amazing gift.

I’m not saying that if she hadn’t I would be a drug addicted, kidnapping robber, but she did the work so I didn’t have to go through what she did, so I didn’t have to deal with the pain and the lifelong challenges that all brings. I wonder if she understood that so clearly when she was putting in the hard work.

I started at a higher rung socially, economically, physically, intellectually, and even sexually in life and I believe have been able to achieve so much more than I would have thanks to her working on herself.

In my late teens and early 20s, my mom was stuck for a few years feeling guilty for leaving me home alone several nights a week to go out as she rebuilt her social and romantic life after my parents divorced when I was 12. I recall being lonely in my teenage years – I was shy, introspective and depressed. Nevertheless, when my mom would bring up this topic, I would always respond with two questions.

“Did you love me?”

“Did you do the best you could with what you knew at the time?”

She would always answer yes to both, and then I would say,

“Then I’m happy. You loved me and did the best you could. What more could I ask for?”

God, I had no idea just how much she loved me through my childhood and just how simply amazing her best was. Thanks, Mom.

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Tomato Peach Panzanella Salad

I had my first peach of the year yesterday and it was divine! Perfumey, juicy, soft – I could have eaten a bushel. It reminded me of this salad that is just the best of summer in a bowl! Peaches, tomatoes and basil are wed with shallots, fresh mozzarella and a light vinaigrette for a summer treat that comes together in a snap. Get creative or use up what you have in the fridge. Substitute or add avocado, corn, mint, feta, cheddar or sweet or hot peppers. Make vegan or trim calories by omitting the cheese. 


Servings: 8 as a side dish
Time: Less than 30 minutes active and total
Price: About $10.80 total; $1.35 per serving
Nutrition (per serving): 
Calories: 207.7
Protein: 6.5g
Fat: 9.2g
Saturated fat: 2.8g
Carbohydrates: 26.1g
Fiber: 2g
Sodium: 377.4mg
Cholesterol: 11.1mg


  • 8 oz sourdough bread, cubed
  • 4 Tbsp EVOO, divided
  • 1 lb peaches, quartered
  • 1 lb tomatoes, quartered
  • 2 medium shallots, minced
  • 1/2 cup basil leaves, left whole
  • 4 oz bocconcini (small mozzarella balls), quartered
  • 2 Tbsp red wine vinegar
  • 1 tsp black pepper
  • 1/2 tsp salt


  1. Preheat oven to 300 degrees. On a cookie sheet, lay out bread cubes in a single layer and drizzle with 1 TBSP EVOO. Bake 10 minutes, until crisp, and then broil for 1-2 minutes to brown. Remove and let cool.
  2. Meanwhile in a large bowl, add peaches, tomatoes, shallots, basil and bocconcini and toss gently. In a small bowl, whisk remaining EVOO, vinegar and SnP together.
  3. To assemble, add bread cubes to salad and pour dressing over top. Toss gently and serve immediately. If bringing to a party or eating later, mix everything together except the bread cubes. Refrigerate until ready to use and toss in bread cubes about 5-10 minutes before serving so they have time to soak up the vinaigrette just a bit, but don’t become soggy.

MegaDon: The Kitchen Table

The holidays and my annual trip to the East Coast and Don’s to Japan for skiing meant for a bit of a break before our next meeting. But as soon as we were both home, he was eager to get back together – as was I.

It was early February 2020.

When I arrived, he again greeted me outside by the fountain with a hug and peck on the cheek. As he escorted me in, he was full of updates about his travels.

I walked in the front door and followed him to the right past the formal living room, formal dining room and a epically large painting hanging on the wall. It looked like 1.0 of the expansive tree outline on his label. I inquired. One of his daughter’s painted it and he loved it so much it became a symbol for his starting over.

We passed through into the kitchen and he already made some dinner preparations. Light charcuterie and cheeses were laid out. Raw salmon fillets, fennel, cherry tomatoes, and baby potatoes were staged on cutting boards on the counter. The Christmas Cactus that I had gifted him was there as well right by the kitchen sink. It brought a smile to my face that he kept it. The fire was roaring. The dusk and warmth in the air was comforting.

He moved passed the island and continued to tend to his cocktail set up. Juicer. Bombay Sapphire. Campari. Fresh oranges from the abundant tree in full bloom right outside the kitchen window. 

I stood on the other side of him leaned against the counter, watching his work on the Negronis and listening to his tales. Don has a clever delivery to his stories. Many of his tales are as tall as Everest delivered deadpan. Recall the watering of the trees. It leaves someone like myself, 25 years his junior, wondering what the correct facial and audible response should be if I didn’t quite understand a story about life growing up in the ’60’s and ’70’s. His stories are always self-approving with the biggest smile at the end as if he was saying “Ta-Da!” The content of his tales that evening have sailed out of my brain, but his warm, yet silly expressions will be happily burned into the back of my eyes forever.

The Negronis were finished and we then turned to contemplate dinner prep. He suggested his man meal version. I inserted a woman’s touch.

Crispy skin salmon. Parboiled then fork smashed potatoes drizzled in olive oil made from the olive grove on his hillside property and roasted until crispy. Sautéed fennel and cherry tomatoes with thyme from his garden.

He had set a neat table, which was just on the other side of the kitchen island. Woven placemats. Water and wine glasses. Plates warming in the plate warming drawer.

The potatoes were taking some time to parboil. I turned off the sautéing vegetables and the salmon was dressed and ready for the oven.

I then perched myself, as I like to do in the kitchen during cooking down times, with my ass on the countertop. We discussed the cook times and when I explained we were in a holding pattern until the potatoes were done, he leaned up for a kiss. I immediately ran my left hand through his long, white curly locks. They were voluptuous, full, soft. I pulled my hand down – running it across his beard – manicured, soft but coarse over his chin bone to his throat. I have learned that children of this era love natural hair growth and his beard almost grew right into his chest hair.

He positioned himself between my thighs as we kissed. He reached up to grab my ass and pulled me forward to the edge of the countertop. I leaned in and down, with both hands around his face, his hands on my lower back.

A pause in the lip locking allowed me to jump down from the counter. He took my hand and led me to the kitchen table. Even though only two places were set at the large circular table for eight, he pushed aside the placemats and silverware in dramatic fashion. I was de-robing on the ten steps toward the table.

I hoisted myself onto the table, slid my bare ass back and laid down flat with my legs dangling. He picked them up, folded them in and came right into me with his long hard cock. The entrance made me sit up at half attention. I laid back on the table and Don grasped on to my hips to keep my pussy at the edge of the table.

My fond memory is of his wide grin, pleased laugh and that grasp as his hard cock slammed me away and then back closer to him.

I spread my arms on the table and just let him have me. Pulling, pumping until he jerked back, stiffened and exploded in me. He fell forward, head on my stomach and I ran my hands through his hair.

He sat up, smiled and said, “Oh baby!” I burst out giggling, sat up and we held each other for a moment. I ran my hands over his weather worn back, pulling him close. He put his head in the nape of my neck and gave it a gentle kiss.

After a moment, we got up and tended to dinner. Potatoes drained, smashed, drizzled, roasted. Rewarmed the fennel and tomatoes. Added the salmon to the oven next to the potatoes.

We had no reason to redress. Clothes still strewn about the kitchen floor and on the way to the table. He poured the wine, plated dinner on the warmed plates and we dined in the buff with just a linen napkin draped over a thigh. No one paid any mind. We carried on with polite, clever conversation enjoying the meal, the wine, the music, and the connection.

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There is a very strange phenomenon I’ve noticed about myself in the last few years – the morning after a heavy night of drinking, enough that I feel the hangover effects, I’m horny. Anyone else?? Such a weird development – I guess my brain just wants the fun to continue!

On this particular morning, my body wanted to move slow, get back into bed and binge the day away, but I had a full work schedule. My brain, on the other hand, wanted a hard cock. Nerdie had already headed out to work and besides I had no time for elaborate sex routines – I’m late, I’m late, I’m late! Ok, really would the world fall apart if I was five minutes late? I’ll just speed faster than I usually do or something.

I was already dressed and fully ready to walk out the door, but I went to the bedroom and closed the door instead. It felt naughty…which was turning me on even more. I was in a sundress and sandals so I kicked off the shoes, climbed into bed, fluffed the pillows, pulled up the dress and down with the panties.

I looked down at my pussy, spread my lips and could see my clit was already swollen. One of my favorite moves to tease myself is to use my right index finger and tap gently on my clit. The feeling of the slightest stickiness as my finger pulls away from my clit drives my crazy. But no time for too much teasing today plus I was exceptionally worked up into a ferocious frenzy.

I love to watch sex in general – in real life, in porn – so watching my right index and middle fingers (which I have recently, affectionately named Two Finger Tommy) press into my clit and rub in a circular motion round and round was going to get the job done pretty quick.

But this time it wouldn’t be enough. My pussy wanted a hard cock bad.

A number of years ago I bought a Nerdie-sized silicone dildo to take with me on work trips. It doesn’t vibrate. It’s not purple or striped or camouflage. It doesn’t have a clit stimulator attached. It’s just a perfectly wonderful, accurate replica – tan flesh colored, healthy length, heathy girth with just the right amount of realistic veiny-ness, firm and a bit more flexible than the real deal.

I went to the bottom drawer of my dresser and sifted through the ziploc bags of sexy costumes and lingerie. SN (Silicone Nerdie) was at the bottom back of the drawer and my brain lit up when my eyes locked on to him.

I jumped back in to bed and pushed him right inside all the way to the end. I was surprised how soaking I was since I had only been touching my clit up until then. I pulled SN out and repeatedly jammed him inside as fast and as hard as I could. It felt magical, with a side of pain, as the tip slammed against the top of my pussy.

I stopped ramming myself, but left SN inside while I went back to my clit. I didn’t want to cum too fast, but I had to cum fast. I slowed down the progression of my orgasm by awkwardly trying to pump him in and out while rubbing my clit, which only distracted me slightly.

I couldn’t hold back any longer and stopped sliding SN back and forth, but just left him all the way inside again. Tommy was amazing that day – his perfect pressure on the side of my clit with the right speed of circular motion had me screaming expletives in a matter of seconds. I tensed, squeezed my right tit with my left hand to the brink of pain, and exploded. A few tight convulsions and then my body relaxed.

A wave of calm, satisfaction and pleasure washed over me. Now I really wanted to stay in bed under the covers and binge all day.

I leaned forward and pulled out SN. The shaft was wet with little bubbles from all the vigorous fucking I did to him and as the tip pulled out, a string of wet followed. I turned him head side up and quickly ran to the bathroom to clean him up before it dripped on the floor.

I gave him a quick bath in the sink, towel dry and back in the drawer. Panties up, sandals on and out the door with a clearer, fulfilled mind.

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Hot Artichoke & Beet Green Dip

I planted one artichoke plant in my garden bed a little too early before the summer was over last year and I’ve been struggling to keep it alive. I had hoped I might get an artichoke or two this season, but it just wasn’t strong and mature enough…sigh.

I was riding my bike around town this week and got super jelly when I saw three beautiful, giant artichoke plants full of ripe artichokes. I was a prolific artichoke grower when I lived more in-land – five different varieties that kept me in artichoke leaves and hearts all season! This recipe was my favorite way to use them.


Servings: 8
Time: About 30 minutes active; one hour total
Price: About $19.00 total; $2.40 per serving
Nutrition (per serving): 
Calories: 186.9
Protein: 8g
Fat: 11.8g
Saturated fat: 6.7g
Carbohydrates: 14.5g
Fiber: 5.3g
Sodium: 379.4mg
Cholesterol: 33.3mg


  • 5 medium artichokes, cooked, hearts removed and chopped
  • 1 Tbsp EVOO
  • 1 medium onion, chopped
  • 3 garlic cloves, minced
  • 2 Tbsp fresh thyme, minced
  • 1 lemon, chop 2 tsp lemon zest and juice half
  • 1 bunch beet greens, chopped, about 8-9 oz
  • 1 tsp black pepper, divided
  • 1/2 tsp red pepper flakes
  • 1/4 tsp salt
  • 8 oz Neufchatel cheese, or cream cheese, but the former has better flavor and less calories, fat and carbs
  • 1/2 cup sour cream
  • 1/4 cup Parmesan cheese, grated


  1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a large skillet, heat EVOO over medium heat. Add onion, garlic, thyme and lemon zest. Saute about 5 minutes until onion gets soft.
  2. Add beet greens, 1/2 tsp black pepper, red pepper flakes and salt. Mix well and heat until there is no more liquid in the pan from greens, about 5 minutes. Add artichoke hearts and cook 2-3 minutes. Remove from heat.
  3. In a large bowl, mix together Neufchatel, sour cream, lemon juice and remaining 1/2 tsp black pepper. Add artichoke-greens mixture and incorporate thoroughly.
  4. Spray a casserole dish with cooking spray and spread the mixture out evenly. Top with Parmesan and bake for 10 minutes. Heat broiler and broil 2-4 minutes until Parmesan melts and begins to brown. Serve hot or at room temperature with your favorite dipper.


I met MegaDon on an online dating app that predominantly attracts older men and younger women. It works equally well for 40-something men and 20-something women as it did in my case – just add 20 years to both parties.

When he sent me his photo, he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place how or why. 68, 6′, the sexiest waves of white locks combed back but still fluffy and full, matching beard, wide smile with a body built by swimming, the sun, wine and a privileged life.

Once I recognized who he was, I was shocked and excited all at once. A local celebrity for sure and, within the family business, he was famous internationally for the industry-changing impacts his father and grandfather made. Truly his father was MegaDon – Don being a reference to the “Boss” in the Italian mob hierarchy. The family wasn’t mafia as far as I knew, but they ruled the land I now called home for many, many decades. With his father passed on (and my personal neglect for his older brother), this new sexy man who walked into my life took the naming rights. I’ll just call him Don for short.

Don first asked me to come to his house for drinks and dinner. After I explained my safety rule #1 – first dates always in public – he made us a reservation at a nearby Italian restaurant with a famed chef at the helm.

“I believe that the chances of us getting through drinks and a meal together, and then wanting to get together for even more is quite high!”

We were seated at a cozy crescent moon-shaped booth and sat at the 11 and 1 positions quite close for a first date. It was December and I wore black jeans, black boots and heavy but fitted grey sweater. He wore the mature man’s dressy casual – khaki slacks, button down long sleeve and V-neck sweater.

The sommelier addressed him properly by Mr. ‘Last Name’ and Don approved of his choice of a 2012 Grand Vin Pomerol for us to enjoy over our meal. There wasn’t a pause in our conversation all evening except when a random man heading toward the bathroom recognized him, stopped and said, “Hello ‘Don’ – great to see you. I enjoyed my recent visit to your ‘business.'” Don acknowledged him with a nod, thanked him and the man continued on.

We talked about the local industry, music, food, travel, family. He told his story quite modestly. Don was an alumnus of the local university which boasts a top tier program in our industry. Following, he was sent by his father abroad to learn more before returning home in the early 1970s to help run the family business. I actually felt lucky that I personally did not know the story (there are books about his family) and I could hear it firsthand in his own words and through his own experience.

At the end of the meal, he tried, tried again and invited me back to his house for a night cap. I reminded him of safety rule #1, but I didn’t want the night to end. I suggested a night cap at the bar and we enjoyed a fantastic Amaro – something I had neither heard of nor tasted previously.

As the evening wound down, he walked me to my car and we paused to next to it to continue our conversations. It was hard to say good-bye.

By his smiles, laughs, casual brushes and touches against my arm all evening and well of course the invite back to his, I knew he was into me. When he leaned in and only gave me a hug, I was a bit bolder than usual and asked him for a kiss. He smiled, placed his hand on my upper back and affirmed my request.

It will go down as one of the most bizarre first kisses I had ever experienced.

It had no natural rhythm or cadence. I couldn’t figure out the timing of when to open and close my mouth. And his tongue was beating to its own drummer. I learned during subsequent meetings to just give up on the rhythm and let him lead the lip locking party. Sometimes committing to awkward lengths of an open mouth, eventually I figured out his style.

As strange as it was, I was intrigued – I’ll admit slightly star struck as well. I was curious about a man 25 years older than me (he was and still is the oldest I’ve ever dated), but also genuinely interested in him and wanted to spend more time together. He was sexy as hell, interesting to talk to and I was already learning a bunch – and drinking practically untouchable wines (by their price points).

It wasn’t long before I got the second date invite to his house or rather his estate. It was tucked behind some high rolling hills – a solid 5 minute drive from the main road – through vineyards and olive groves. I passed land worker housing and a production facility led by periodic posted signs with his house number. It eventually took me to a one lane drive, which climbed and wound passed thick tree growth. The coded gate was open for me and when I crested the final hill the view that was unveiled was amazing to behold.

I could see the eastern mountains in the distance. Vineyards flanked the long drive on either side and the asphalt turned to tan and white pebbles, lush grass to the right and a house all on one level spanning in both directions. I wasn’t exactly sure where the front door was.

I parked, and collected myself and my belongings. Since Christmas was near, I brought him a Christmas Cactus. I wouldn’t dare bring wine but it felt fitting, respectful and grateful to bring something. I wanted it to be thoughtful and personal.

My mom had bought me a Christmas Cactus when I was little. It sat on my bedroom window sill all year long and had thick green leaves – a bit holly-like but with rounded edges rather than pointy ones. Only in the winter did beautiful deep pink flowers emerge and this one I gave him was in bloom. He was outwardly appreciative, but I had a lingering thought that my $8 gift fell short.

He asked me if I would like a Negroni. I was embarrassed that I had never heard of the drink. This offer started at least what is now a four year obsession. I only drink them the way he made them – Bombay Sapphire with a fresh orange juice splash. Bitter sweet.

He had started preparations for dinner – what he termed his “Man Meals.” This was a random collection of one protein plus whatever veggies and starch was in season from a local farm market stand at the indoor culinary hall in town. He had known the owners, his contemporaries, for decades – naturally. He would typically throw everything on a sheet tray, drizzle with olive oil and salt and roast.

He had also laid out a simple array of local cheeses, crackers and nuts to nibble on.

It was dark and cold outside so we sat by the fireplace in the large expansive kitchen that included a well out fitted cooking area. Indoor grill top, two sink areas, built in wine fridge and counter tops that went on for days. This all opened to a dining area – rustic circular table which could seat eight comfortably plus wood fireplace and seating area with a long white couch, two individual chairs, coffee table and work desk in the corner. There was a butler door leading to the formal dining room, walk-in pantry and the longest sliding glass doors that accordioned open to bring the outside in during warmer months.

We sipped our Negronis and enjoyed the hot fire on our backs. He looked so handsome by firelight – glowing embers reflecting on his face. I can hardly remember what we talked about.

Each time he crossed and uncrossed his legs, he used it as an opportunity to move closer in until finally he leaned in to kiss me. Still just as strange, but I was starting to get the hang of it. He paused and pulled back for a moment.

“Ohhh baby!”

I smiled. “Why thank you!”

I was helping him finish up dinner and get ready to plate everything when he told me he needed to go and check on the trees outside, talk to them and see how they were doing that day. I was puzzled because he told this story with such a serious, straight face. He opened the sliding door at the farthest end and disappeared into the night. After hearing this story several times over the next few weeks, my brains synapsis finally connected that he was going outside to pee.

He came back in.


He disappeared down the hall and then down a set of stairs. After a few minutes he reemerged with a bottle of 2008 Nebbiolo. He popped it and poured it right into our glasses set at the table.

Then he joined me in the kitchen, pulled the plates from the warming drawer and plated salmon, leeks, carrots, broccolini and fingering potatoes. Dinner always included an unusually large selection of vegetables.

We ate, we talked, we drank, we listened to music playing on the speakers mounted across the room. The fire in the distance kept the space cozy and the light dim. We sat there for a long while enjoying each other’s company and finally the last drops of wine went in to each of our glasses. He invited me back to the fireplace to enjoy it only we didn’t do much talking after that.

He sat right next to me in front of the fire and picked up my legs to drape over his. He put his hand on my cheek and gave me a very deep, very open mouthed kiss. I let him lead and I was getting more than hot from the fire.

“Would you like to continue this in my bedroom?”

I nodded.

He led me down a long corridor passed the formal living room, formal dining room, and the front door which I had entered when I arrived. Then passed perhaps three or four or maybe more closed doors, which I assume were bedrooms. When the hall took a sharp left, we took a right through slightly open double doors, down three steps to his sunken master bedroom. It had large floor to ceiling windows, a fireplace and a king bed. He sat on a chair to remove his boots and clothing. I did the same at the edge of the bed.

He was slim and quite toned – a swimmer’s body. Moderately hairy chest with salt and pepper fuzz. He had pecs, bis and I could even see definition in his abs. His cock was quite long and slender.

He met me where I sat, bent down slightly putting both hands on either side of my thighs and began kissing me while pushing me backward on the bed. I laid down and started to slide backward toward the top of the bed when he put his hands on my thighs and squeezed gently to signal me to stop.

He knelt on the floor at the edge of the bed, coaxed my hips to the edge and buried his beard in my pussy. A little forceful at the start, he read the movement of my hips and my breathing and found his rhythm there. I was concerned about all the wine and gin being an obstacle to my orgasm, but his dedicated efforts were quite successful in the end.

After several minutes of grinding my hips to the tune of his tongue on my clit, I could feel the rush of my orgasm coming. I pressed forward into his face, arched my back and exploded. I kept my expletives G-rated this evening not knowing how he might react. He hadn’t really thrown out many F- or S-bombs since we met.

As I was coming down, writhing and twitching, he pushed me slightly forward so I was fully on the bed, climbed on top of me and thrust his hard, long cock into my soaking pussy. He laid his chest on mine and I put my arms around his back to pull him close. His groans were guttural and deep. His cock was so long that with his most enthusiastic thrusts he could go no further inside of me – an instant of enjoyable pain I had never experienced.

He didn’t hold back verbally when he came – rose up off my chest and with one last enthusiastic pump, came, screamed wordless noises from the depths of his insides. He pulled out and flopped next to me on the bed. He pulled the blankets down and we tucked in. He put his hand on the side of my head as I was adjusting so it lay on his chest.

“My god, you sexy woman!”

I smiled and we sat there quietly enjoying our skin contact and heavy breathing coming back to normal.

Eventually he asked if I’d like a rinse. He led me to his bathroom which was up three steps on the other side of the bed from the three steps leading into and out of the bedroom.

It had two sinks, master jacuzzi tub that would easily fit two, a toilet room with a door, a glass shower and doorway leading to his walk-in closet. He turned on the water in the shower and invited me in. He picked up a shower sponge, pumped some lavender soap on it and began washing me from head to toe. He pressed his chest to my back, reached around and washed my chest with the sponge while kissing my neck.

I felt like I had stepped into a sexy movie scene.

We finished up, dried off, redressed and he walked me out to my car. He told me what a lovely time he had and that he hoped we could do it again soon. I agreed. He knelt down to give me a quick kiss while I sat in the driver’s seat of my car with the door open.

I drove home in a fog.

“The moon is rising above the mountains. Your parting kiss raises my hopes of seeing you again.”

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…Because I’m Awesome

If you’ve read a post or two on here, you may have noticed I like music. Well, I actually love music and I think I have quite eclectic taste, which started I believe at about age 4. I vividly remember listening to The Nutcracker while learning to dance ballet and Chaka Khan in jazz class a few years later.

It’s quite curious, though, because I don’t recall my parents being so into music. They had their favorites. My mom loved the music of her youth in the late ’50’s and early ’60’s, including some that are still my favorites – Johnny Mathis, Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn. My dad was much more into ’70’s and ’80’s rock, but came to love many genres he heard when he traveled – most notably in my memory, Zydeco music after a trip to NoLa.

At the end of every post, I like to include a song, well really a video, from YouTube – something that relates to the story I’m telling. I try to vary the genre from week to week and have actually discovered some great songs I wasn’t familiar with along the way. I had never heard Ozzy sing about getting so high that he saw fairies with boots on, had you?

I actually keep both Pandora and Spotify, mostly because I’ve had Pandora so long it’s only $3.99 a month without ads, but also because I really enjoy creating a station and letting it suggest new songs for me rather than always being able to pick exactly what I want to hear. Yes, I know you can select playlists on Spotify, but you can see all the songs on the list already. Spoiler alert fail!

I have created playlists for important people and events in my life on Spotify. I have one for Nerdie that I shared with him – all love songs so if he ever needs to be reminded. One for our Wedding that we created together. One for Diamonds of my favorite songs that make me think fondly of him when I’m missing him.

A few months ago I created a playlist for myself called “…Because I’m Awesome.” It is named for a song by The Dollyrots, which I have been jokingly calling my personal anthem for years. The day I created the playlist, it struck me that I should build my own list of songs to keep track, not just of songs I love, but of songs to remind me that I love me.

So far I have nine songs on the list – just about 30 minutes playing time. Usually that’s more than enough to improve my mood, but every time I think of a song I add it.

Some times listening acts as self-care – picking me up after a hard day or week and reminding me that I kick ass. Some times I’m already in a good mood and just want to boost that dopamine into the stratosphere.

Here’s the current list:

  • “…Because I’m Awesome” The Dollyrots

    Let’s just say I have a healthy level of self-confidence…most days. This is a silly, girl power, rockin’ tune with the best chorus:

    “I’m a leader, I’m a winner, and I’m cleaner…’cause I’m awesome,
    I don’t need you ’cause I’m neato and I beat you ’cause I’m awesome.”

    The video is equally silly and entertaining.

    Girl power rock music (NOT pop) is definitely a fan fav with me. L7, Liz Phair, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Metric, Snake River Conspiracy, Bif Naked, Lily Allen, No Doubt, Amy Winehouse, The Donnas, Regina Spektor, The Breeders, Santiagold, Veruca Salt, Dorothy…the list is long and deep.

    Anything that makes me feel strong to go out, face another day and kick some ass (figuratively speaking, of course!).
  • “Vulcan” Snake River Conspiracy

    I mean the first word of this song is her yelling, “FUCK!” Well, you had me at fuck!

    I’m not sure I even understand all the lyrics to this song, but the music fucking kicks ass and makes me want to kick a door down or something.

    My fav line: “You could talk me into fucking you, but I don’t think you’d survive…”
  • “None Of Your Business” Salt-N-Pepa

    These ladies had a lot of killer songs in the late ’80’s/early ’90’s, including a family favorite with my sister’s side of the family, “Push It” because of a very funny incident with my mom back when the song released in 1986.

    I was 10 and after a very brief hair band phase (I wanted all the Sugar on Me and the Cherry Pie!), I got into rap because, you guessed it, I had a crush on a boy. He also loved the Beastie Boys, who I still enjoy to this day.

    I can remember this like it was last week. It was me and mom in the car. Obviously at age 10, she’s driving and I’m in the front passenger seat. “Push It” comes on the radio and I start singing the lyrics.

    Mid-my belting out, I can see her head whip around out of the corner of my left eye and I can feel her eyes piercing my skin with her stare and she says firmly, “PUSH WHAT??”

    I have no idea what I said to get out of that one – probably something about a dance move. Well, we still play this song at every New Year’s Day Party my sister holds, and we never told my mom why.

    “None of Your Business” was a few years later and, while it got air time, definitely wasn’t as popular probably because of the lyrics. If you don’t know this one, it’s kind of self-explanatory. The shit they do behind closed doors ain’t none of your concern.

    It definitely resonates with me because of my ENM lifestyle. First, when I was out exploring my sexuality after being newly single. I really didn’t feel bad about all the sex I was having with lots of different people (I carried no religious guilt), and this song agreed with me. More recently because I do feel like a circus freak sometimes when I meet someone new to ENM and they have a zillion questions and comments for me. I don’t mind sharing and explain my journey and primary relationship with Nerdie, but remember the “Wow – I can’t believe your husband lets you do this!” comment? You haven’t missed the boat – the boat you were trying to catch is on another planet.

    Several Fav Lines:

    “Opinions are like assholes and everybody’s got one.”
    “The difference between a hooker and a ho ain’t nothing but a fee.”
    “And if she wanna be a freak and sell it on the weekends, it’s none of yo business.”
  • “Can’t Stand Still” Buffalo Clover

    I believe this was Margo Price’s band before she went solo. This song is killer, but you can’t find it anywhere. I have to randomly wait for it to come up on my Pandora. It’s not on Spotify nor YouTube. There must have been some legal something something that prevents it from being searched and downloaded.

    Nevertheless, it’s all about giving the bird to traditional women’s roles.

    So many fav lines starting with the first one:

    “Well women ain’t supposed to ramble,
    and women ain’t supposed to drink,
    why would I want to stay home all night,
    washing dishes in the kitchen sink.”


    “But my papa said I gotta get married,
    My mama told me ‘settle down,’
    But I bought me a ticket on a big jet plane,
    I’m gonna fly straight out of town.”

    “I still got a long way to go,
    Because I can’t stand still,
    No I never will.”
  • “HOT” Ktlyn

    Here’s that healthy self-confidence delivered right to your veins. It’s an uncomplicated, modern pop/rap song – that’s it.

    Fav Lines:

    “They fuck with me because I ain’t tryna be no one I’m not,
    This is why I’m hot,
    Hoes prayin’ that I flop,
    Ima keep it simple,
    You just don’t got what I got.”

    “Wait, I’m really that, really that, hot bitch.”

    And the best line EVA…

    “I mean at this point, I’m jealous of my fuckin self.”
  • “Did It On ‘Em” Nicki Minaj

    There are only a few Nicki songs I like, but this one is at the top, no contest. It was released in 2011, and it was my work anthem for two straight years.

    In 2011, I was the second in charge working at a school in higher education. My boss left and I went for it. I actually had more experience than she and for three years had already had to keep my corset on – I wanted to breathe and show them what I could really do!

    I got turned down for the job, so I went across campus and got the same ass job at another school. I just sucked all the air out of that team and left the dean high and dry with no top fundraisers to close big donations from alumni. I have to say it felt so good to fuck him over.

    Then two years later, I turned up the volume on that song again when I left the university altogether to go to culinary school. Fuck that whole bureaucratic, creativity crushing, cliquey bullshit!

    Fav Line:

    “If I had a dick, I would pull it out and piss on ’em.”
  • “Kiss It” Dorothy

    Dorothy is bit more modern grungy rock with the volume only turned up to 10, instead of the 11 you experience with Snake River Conspiracy. I’m sure you can guess by the title how the song is going to go.

    Fav Line:

    “My baby told me listen here, a woman need a man!
    All I gotta say to you is kiss it baby,
    Yeah, kiss it!”
  • “Started” Iggy Azalea

    I actually encourage Nerdie to listen to this song every day. I know when he hasn’t because he reverts back to saying he’s sorry too much for no reason. Oh god, you Californians say sorry for everything!

    One day, I’m going to sing the lyrics of the chorus when I get to the other side.

    “I started from the bottom and now I’m rich,
    I got in my bag and I ain’t looked back since,
    I started to say sorry, but fuck that shit,
    You started out hatin’, now you love my drip.”

    I absolutely LOVE that she sings the chorus each time twice in a row.

    But my fav line:

    “You can say what you want about me as long as you pay me.”
  • “Sugar Baby” Megan Thee Stallion

    Just like Nicki, I’m not a super fan boy of Megan, but she’s got some tight lyrics. The opening one to this song makes me crack up.

    “Oh, he want a bad bitch?
    Well, I wanna a nigga with some money and a long dick,
    Buy me everything in my cart if you my boyfriend,
    Invest in this pussy, boy,
    Support black business.”

    It’s hilarious and accurate all at once.

    Fav Line:

    “And I’m in my book,
    So I think like a bad bitch.”

    She likely meant that as being smart because she’s well read, but I like to interpret it as being in her book keeping track of her money – strategizing, being entrepreneurial, and smart as hell.

I write this post, hopefully to be entertaining, and maybe you’ll discover a new favorite song, but also because I encourage everyone to start a “…Because I’m Awesome” playlist for themselves. Maybe it’s a Katy Perry “Roar” or Christina Aguilera “Beautiful” or Gloria Gaynor “I Will Survive” or Journey “Don’t Stop Believin'” type playlist.

Whatever your songs are that lift you up and make you feel powerful, smart, pretty, accomplished, and confident, put them in a playlist so you can listen to them whenever you need to or just want to because you are having a great day. Stop, take a moment and say, “Yeah…because I’m fucking awesome!”

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