Archive of ‘Adults Only’ category

A PSA Of Sorts – With Swearing. So Much Swearing.

I took August off this summer to spend a month at the beach with my kids. It’s been wonderful and hot, and it has also been very sandy. After two weeks in paradise I had to be taken a little back to reality, in the form of a mountain of laundry. So, one hot sticky morning I headed off to the local Laundromat to get us some clean beach duds.

As I pulled in, I noticed two big pit bulls tied up to a fence, in the direct blazing sun. I instantly get my pet-loving rage on, but take some deep breaths and think, okay, maybe they’ve only been there for a minute. Relax and mind your own business.

I go in, start my laundry, and keep my eyes on the time. Now it’s 20 minutes. They’ve been there for at LEAST THAT LONG, short leashed to a fence, summer sun beating down on them. I wander outside to check on them. One is muzzled, but he’s managed to get his tongue out, which from a distance I can see is dry, and the other is lying on her side crying. NO WATER. They don’t even have water. My rage is rising faster than the already too hot temperature.

Now IT IS my business. I get my anger in check, walk back into Laundromat, and look around. There are a few different Grannies doing loads of laundry, a young mom, and a guy who looks like Eminem who is shirtless, with his feet up on the counter, refusing to move them for a senior who is trying to get her cart by. He is covered in tattoos, and has the word “MERCY” tatted across his forehead. BINGO.

I march over and say “EXCUSE ME, but are those your dogs over there?”

Well, my rage was met with equal instant rage. This guy starts yelling at me, all up in my face, asking why I’m just judging him by the way he looks, assuming that he’s the owner of pit bulls, because that kind of dog and their owners are always judged, that this is the same as racial profiling. (It isn’t)

I let him rant for a minute or two, then pause. “Yeah, but are they YOUR pit-bulls? To which he answers yes.

I tell him that he needs to get those dogs out of the sun and some water immediately, or I’m going to call the cops. I start to walk back out towards the dogs and he gets in my face again.

“IF YOU GO NEAR THEM, THEY’LL RIP YOUR FUCKING FACE OFF!”

I get back up in his face and say “IF YOU DONT GET THEM OUT OF THE SUN NOW, I’LL RIP YOUR FUCKING FACE OFF.”

He stepped back immediately, I’m going to assume he could see pure fire and rage shooting like lasers out of my eyes, and my skin must have been turning green because I was going to She Hulk Smash THE SHIT OUT OF HIM.

He went out to his dogs and called me a “Dumb C***” and left. I called out after him “TAKES ONE TO KNOW ONE.” Zing.

I turn back, a little shaky, but mostly pleased with myself, to see everyone else in the Laundromat giving me dirty looks.

“OH YEAH.” I said. “Like I’M the problem.”

I pack up my clothes and head back. The dirtbag and his dogs are nowhere to be seen, so I hope they found some water, and that maybe he will think twice before doing that again.

Moral of the story is, Animal Cruelty is everyone’s responsibly. Even if the situation gets uncomfortable we need to be advocates for pets in distress.

And if you are a pet owner, please think about what you are doing.

Because you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

She Hulk Smash

She Hulk Smash

 

 

 

Let’s Stop Calling Our New Prime Minister a Hottie.

October 19th was a great day for us here in Canada. We as a country, came together to make a major political change, voting out what I believe to be a terrible Prime Minister. In an overwhelming voter turnout, we as a whole said NO MORE, and voted in a young, vibrant, charismatic, smart, savvy new Prime Minister, with hopes that this man and his ideas will get us back on track to be the greatest country in the world. 

He also, in case you didn’t notice, is a bit of a Hottie!ez%20justin%20china 

The internet exploded, worldwide, the very next day that Canada had elected, and I quote:

“A Bangable Prime Minister!”

Yes. BANGABLE. I read that. More than once. This cracked me up! Who even says that anymore? Well, me now, all day long. “Do these Costco Jeggings make me look bangable?” “Does this flannel Garfield shirt make me look bangable?” (There’s been a lot of that this week.)

There was a hashtag #PMILF. The Twitterverse was on FIRE. Every paper and magazine starting talking about it, and calling him “The Sexiest Politician EVER.” I laughed, and I’ll admit, I kind of loved it. I actually felt proud. “That’s right, he’s our Hottie PM, and he’s going to make our world better. He’s going to right all of Harpers’ wrongs.”

One girlfriend asked if I thought it seemed kind of gross and sexist to say this about our new leader. No, I really didn’t. Just because he’s good looking, doesn’t take away from the fact he’s smart and skilled. The whole world knows we elected him not for looks, but for his political views and our faith that he can take care of our Country, Right? (They must!) One of his promises was to have an inquiry into the missing and murdered indigenous women of our country. That is HUGE. Everyone knows this, right? (They don’t.)

She then asked me “What if people described YOU as bangable? How would you feel about that? Imagine if people said that about you doing your job!”

ARE YOU KIDDING? At this point in my life, I would LOVE THAT. In my mind, it goes like this:

“Hey, you know that lady that walks all those kids to school in her pyjamas? TOTALLY BANGABLE.”

“Do you mean the one that claims she’s writing a book but has a nap every afternoon? Yeah. I’d hit that.” #LMILF (Lazy MILF)

“I love a woman so confident, funny AND smart, that also happens to be a total hottie. I have mad respect for that!”

So, as you can see, the comments about Trudeau didn’t bother me. (You may also see that I sometimes have a skewed sense of reality.)

At first I thought there was no harm in it, but by the end of the day, words like “objectifying, sexiest, demeaning, dismissive, belittling” made me start rethinking my enjoyment of it all. Comments like “Hey, it happens to women all the time!” or “He’s the one who posed with his shirt off, so he must like this kind of attention!” totally made me cringe. I HATE those kind of comments. I LOSE IT when people say that about women. So why is it okay for me to say this about a man? Two wrongs don’t make a right. My feeling of sisterly pride for our “Hot new PM” have quickly turned into that slightly regretful feeling you get after you’ve gone to ladies night at a strip bar, or maybe got too drunk at a wedding. I feel sort of bad for my actions. I didn’t “big picture” it. I just wanted to have some fun but didn’t really think through how it would all play out the next day. I don’t want the world to think we voted in a man because of his looks, his bangability, or curly hair. I want them to know we did this because of our hopes he can help us change our country, for the better.

I love Canada and I think we did a good thing on Monday. I hope we can show the rest of the world that. I will now stop all my silly business and give this election the respect it deserves. We have a new leader, which is great, but we also (here in my riding) lost a beloved NDP MP in the collateral damage. I’d hate for her to think her job, that she has done well, was taken away from her because we can’t resist dreamy eyes and a smile. I think she deserves better than that, Justin Trudeau certainly does, and we as a country do too.

 

Is THIS My Midlife Crisis??!!?? (Warning. A lot of swearing.)

So, something happened last night. I had an “Aha! Moment.” I know this is an Oprah thing, but since I’ve never watched Oprah, I am just going to go ahead and assume she means that moment when you realize you’ve TURNED INTO A GIANT FUCKING LOSER.

I was just plating our dinner (How’s that for an obnoxious term?) when I took a bite of the salad I’d made (I make salad every night, EVERY NIGHT, so I am not sure why this is a big deal.) and called out to my husband “WOW, I really knocked dinner out of the ballpark tonight!”

He didn’t really hear me, because he was busy talking over me, telling me who he would pick as his dream cast for the “Ultimate Ghostbusters Reboot.”

I stood in the doorway, holding our plates with my award winning, grand slamming dinner on it, staring at him as he then went on to say “For the record, they DON’T NEED to do a reboot. BUT since they are I love that it’s women and love the women they’ve cast, but I’ve heard they are also doing a men’s one, which is SO STUPID and thank god they didn’t do the one they had talked about years ago with Chris Farley and Adam Sandler BUT IF they do end up doing another one, and I could cast it, it would be Will Farrell, that funny Asian guy who’s in EVERYTHING right now (Randall Park), Chris Pratt and Kevin Hart.” “Oooh. Great cast!” I say. “I’d hit all of that.” I also say, because I always like to keep it classy.

We sit down, I hand him 40 napkins and say “Okay. We can eat on the new couch but PLEASE be careful.” Then we watch Netflix. We don’t actually watch a full show or movie, we scroll for a half hour pointing out all the things we could watch, and WANT to watch, but not tonight, because I have super anxiety and can only handle comedies.

A bottle of wine and some chips follow, and then I force him to rub my bunion. Welcome to my Saturday night.

Seriously. WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK.

How did this happen??!!?? I used to be super fun and funny. I used to go out, and work nights and have crazy adventures and still manage to get up early and function. Now I can’t even handle staying up late. I complain about never getting invited to parties, but when I do, and the start time is after 9pm, I say “WHAAAAAAAAATTTT, WHO leaves the house after 8??” in a super high pitched voice, and usually don’t go. I went to my friend Laura’s house, and stayed until 2:30 am, and am still trying to recover three weeks later. I have actually been bragging about walking home at that time, as all the bars poured out onto the streets, and that the Domino’s Pizza was still open. STILL OPEN! Who even knew that? People under 40, that’s who. People way cooler than me, that’s who. Everyone else. That’s who.

I talked to my girlfriend about this, and said MAYBE just maybe I am having a midlife crisis. “But I am TOO YOUNG!” I said. She said “No. I think that’s about right. If anything, you should have had it about 5 years ago. Let’s face it, with your health and bad luck do you REALLY think you are going to make it to 80?”

Rude, yes. But not wrong. I don’t want to come right out and say I think I have a shorter life expectancy rate than others, but hey, some days MY ENTIRE LEFT SIDE DOESN’T WORK.

So, is this the midlife crisis? Am I two weeks away from getting a mom haircut? Is this the moment when my brain shifts to a new, comfortable spot where it stops keeping track of any new technology or cool music? Will I start wearing boxy shorts, fanny packs and cross trainers when I travel? Will all my tee shirts be from Northern Reflections? Will I start wearing bedazzled clothing??

SO MANY WORRIESOME QUESTIONS.

My biggest worry is that I have been this boring and middle aged my entire life, but that I am only realizing it now, as age brings some sort of wisdom. (It must, right?)

This was totally not what I pictured doing with my life. Do you know how I spend my days? Writing up “Fun Family Recipes” for Mom blogs that I never actually make, and get paid in gift cards. (Right eye twitches as I die a little inside.)

I can tell you this. Starting NOW I am going to make some changes. (Totally a thing someone says who’s having a midlife crisis.)

I won’t be buying a sports car or going on a fancy trip. Did I mention so far I also sort of suck at being an adult? I think I must HATE money. I have to get rid of it the second I get any, so these two items are definitely off the table.

I won’t train and run in a marathon either. I may be having a midlife crisis, but I am still super lazy. I probably won’t lose the baby weight I’ve been carrying. I won’t sky dive, change careers, or get plastic surgery.

I’m not sure what I’ll do, but it will be something. Or worse, my biggest fear, I’ll do NOTHING. Just get older and MORE BORING. I am frowning as I say this. Which I shouldn’t do, because now I have lines on my mouth that resemble a ventriloquist dummy.

40 is NOT the new 30. Only old people say that. Old people with Howdy Doody mouths and accordion foreheads.

Something’s gotta give, and it can’t be my hip.

Stay Tuned.

30. Oh 30, how I miss you.

30. Oh 30, how I miss you.

Grade 8. SO MUCH STYLE

Grade 8. SO MUCH STYLE

Early 90's. That's a lot of hair.

Early 90’s. That’s a lot of hair.