Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear me, and tra la la la. My birthday month is here again, and with the catch and release of the Yum Yum Boy behind me, I can now be seen tooling around town with a doctor, a tugboat captain, a television producer, and a financial consultant. Not all at one time, mind you. It’s all about the juggle. There’s also the various others that slip into the mix, and damnit, if I’m not having fun being treated like the queen that I am! After all, I deserve all the lobster, champagne and outings that I can possibly handle. It does get a bit exhausting, but I figure that this is the beginning of the second half of my life… and I’m going at it with a vengeance.

With that in mind, while at the gym the other day, vigorously sweating all the previous night’s vodka out of my skin, I decided to charge up my workout. It proved to be too intense after I almost launched myself right off the cross-trainer machine. I started to laugh at myself, thinking how it would look to actually catapult oneself across the weight room, and land spread eagle, on the back of a macho dead lifter. Something out of the Cirque du Soleil, sans the grace and dignity, of course. When I was finished exercising my thighs and imagination, I showered and hit the steam room. Once in awhile, if no one is in there, I have to turn on the timer and crank the fat, red hose to get it going, full steam ahead. This time it was already churning out the steam, crowding the little room with a blinding fog. I sensed another body in the midst of it all, and heard a woman tell me she would scoot down so I could stretch out. I thanked her, finally catching sight of the voluptuous strawberry blonde. I lay down and stretched out long, covering my face with crossed arms, as the ceiling tends to drip with interspersing plunks of hot water. A couple of drops hit my knee and my head, and then an unsought drop fell, with a hard kerplunk, directly on my clitoris! I sat straight up and exclaimed, “Ooh!” when my strawberry blonde steam mate asked, “What happened?” A little embarrassed, but more stimulated, I told her what had happened, and pointed out that since I shave it was probably inevitable. We laughed and discussed the at-hand shaving topic, body jewelry, and relationships in general. The steam was starting to overwhelm us, so we decided to continue or conversation in the hot tub. I told her, I liked to take a cold shower in between, as the skin adores that. Strawberry agreed she should start doing the same and asked if we could share a shower. Parts of me were throbbing uncontrollably and suddenly the word ‘no’ was not in my vocabulary.

We slid into the last shower stall, one that the light had burned out over, and turned on the cool water. Strawberry put her hands on my waist and I combed her long wavy hair with my fingernails as she tilted her neck back, begging for my lips on her nape. We had an intensely passionate make-out session, which led to an exploration of each other’s every crease. After what only seemed like an hour, we rinsed the slickness of our release from between our legs, and sprinted to the hot tub. Too many people in the tub, but I felt the total relaxation of the tub for maybe the first time ever. Strawberry got out before I did. I gave her a wave and a smile and knew I wouldn’t see her again. Never say never though, as this life tends to hold spontaneously combustive surprises all the time… and I do so love this life!

The Transient Trollop, still nesting temporarily (and complaining daily) in the deep South, has been sent a gift of appreciation from a grateful client in Paris. Rosary beads, most likely, wouldn’t be the TT’s gift of choice, but that’s what she got. She tossed them around her neck, cracked open a PBR, and called me to tell me that she had a Parisian Jesus tossing about in her cleavage, and they’re both doing well, thank you. Bless her alcohol-drenched heart!

My Brother Juniper, the rock star, and his family have moved back here, to the constant rainfall of the Northwest. They’ve been in sunny California for the last decade and I’ve missed them! He and his Juniper Queen arranged some music gigs at a club downtown the other night and the gang was all there. Punk Girl, who, still upset (the only one perhaps) over losing her voice due to a recent flu, and her Hungary Man were swinging from the rafters when I arrived. The Yum Yum Boy was there, professing his undying love for me and showing some major life changes in the works. We shall see. I met oodles of my brother’s friends, most of who, thought I was his baby sister. I always enjoy explaining (and watching facial reactions) that I’m actually half a decade older than my brother. Okay, ego sufficiently boosted and ready to rock!

Homer K. Simpson, my ex from light years ago, headed up the first band on stage. Three chefs calling themselves The Cooks, broiled up the stage with remnants of Nirvana and songs about golf carts with bongs built in them. Then, Monkey Fur, Brother Juniper’s buddies started grinding notes with gusto. They wear different masks and costumes and have a number of scantily clad chickadees parading about. Big guys with gorilla, pig, psycho kewpie doll and wrestler masks on. Wife beaters and tighty whities, black fishnet body stockings, codpieces and Daisy Dukes. Quite the ensemble and an earful of parody to ingest. You can check them out on their website; www.monkeyfur.com.

Oh, and word out to the men that continue to send me photographs of their appendages; please stop putting the ‘ick’ in dick! Cease and desist! What do you think I’m going to say to you? “Oh what a gorgeous penis you have and let’s hook it up, baby!” Give me a freakin’ break, and go far, far away!

Now, time to shake up a martini, put on some James Brown, and slip into my birthday suit and celebrate the way only I know how!