And So It Begins

This post might have a lot of typos and bad grammar but that’s only because I’m trying to write it while laying face down on my bed with a pillow over my head. The worst has happened. I may never be the same.

My seven-year old son has a girlfriend.

I knew it was inevitable but still. I asked him how his day was at school and he told me. Quite happily.

“It’s Lana, Mom. She told Cohen that she LOVED me!”

In my shocked mother-mind I thought,“Well, she’s a forward little thing”. But I just said “Okay.”

“Yeah. And she held my hand while we waited for the bus!” Mother-mind yelled “Whorebag!” My mouth said “What?”

“Well, she just kind of grabbed my hand, Mom. I only held it for a little while.” Mother-mind thought “What’s with this little hussy? After ONE day? Isn’t hand holding at 7 like third base?

I calmed down. Spoke rationally.

“Son, I’m not sure that’s allowed at school.” I did okay, right? “What do you think about this girl?” (That’s what you say, right? Supportive, interested, not wanting to slap some sort of chastity belt on your son? Right?)

“Well, last year, Cohen was her boyfriend and before that she liked Daniel. ” Mother-mind: “This broad sure gets around a lot, don’t she?”

“It might be okay if she and I went to the same College or University but we’ll have to see.” (Hear that? My boy is planning for his FUTURE! Take that, you grade two HARLOT!)

“Mom? I’m won’t hold her hand anymore. I promise. And you can’t tell anyone! If her brother finds out he’ll KILL me!” Mother-mind filed that piece of info away under Hmm . For later use.

“And Mom? We will never speak of this again. You must tell NO ONE.”

Apparently he doesn’t understand what a blog is. “Okay, my sweet, little, itty-bitty baby boy, my only child, my only one ever. Okay. Please don’t grow up too fast.”

He hugged me and said, “It’s okay, Mom. We’ll probably live with you when we get married anyway.”


The Rape Monkeys

Hoo boy.

I’ve been watching the U.S. presidential campaigning with great interest, mostly because I am stunned at some of the things the Republican candidates are saying. I truly have not heard so much stupid  said in a few short weeks, ever. But one thing is sticking in my craw, oh yes. To the point where every time I hear it mentioned, the GACK-choke sound issues out of me so loudly me family turns and stares.

What in the blue fuck is with all the Rape talk? Yes, I am capitalizing it, as I believe it is a word that needs due accord and is not to be tossed about willy-nilly as has been of late.

I’ve read the term “Rape easy”, I’ve heard that you won’t get pregnant from “forcible Rape” and that “pregnancy resulting from Rape is the will of god” or some such. Wow. I’ve learned a lot.

I get the idea that some people vote according to their religious views. Trust me, as a Canadian I know we have a government that is filled to overflow with the evangelist christian right and they are doggedly trying to change our abortion laws as we speak. However, thus far, they haven’t gotten into the whole soft pedalling of the Rape issue. I feel that’s what they are doing in the Republican campaign in the U.S.

As someone who has been Raped and narrowly escaped two other Rapes, I must protest. As someone who knows several women that have been Raped, I must protest. (I’m not going to get into the birth control and abortion issue as I believe that is your personal choice as a woman or a man. For the record, that’s called having Rights. Know them.)

I don’t care which way you spin it Rape is ALWAYS an act of violence. ALWAYS. There is nothing else to be said about it. EVER. As a woman, it find it insulting that it’s being used as just some noun or verb, without any emotion put behind it. As a person, I feel that way.

Rape is awful, dehumanizing and should never be used to attend to a political or religious agenda. Not anywhere, not ever.

I’m also insulted by the thinking of these men. That they truly believe that the “men” they are campaigning to will see things the same way. In my circle of friends and family, at least 50% are male and I going to go with the safe bet that 99% of them don’t espouse the notion that Rape is just something that happens sometimes. So, help me out here. Is this election a complete farce of humanity with 11 rapists sitting around casting the votes for the next president or is this something many men really believe in?

Yes, I’m a Canadian but my Grandfather was a first generation immigrant in this country from Michigan. So yes, I do consider my American friends as cousins. (I do love you folks.) But I am gobsmacked at this. And I feel for you.

All I can hope is that once these monkeys are out of the barrel, it’ll be pretty fucking hard to stuff them back in. That no one will forget the idiocy of anyone using the word RAPE in their platform to get elected.

I don’t care what anyone says, using that word to further any cause regarding reproductive laws implies that it’s okay to commit the act. That it happens. No big deal.

It’s not okay. It’s a big fucking deal. If these men get in, fear for your wives, daughters, even your sons and brothers. Your love ones will need you to.




Stupid Monday, marching in at the beginning of the week, all Meh, and Meh, I’m Monday, Ha! Monday can kiss my ass.

So…I’ll fill you in on some things because Monday has me all miserable like a menstruating bear with a chapped vagina and someone said “Write about the things that make you happy”. You know what? Nothing makes me happy on Monday! NOTHING!

As to my absence from this dusty blog (My God, someone should vacuum this hell hole) I shall now attempt to explain. We live in the country and for 3 years have had high-speed internet and phone service provided by a company that rhymes with Snodgers. (I hereby release myself from all litigious action because you know what you did, you stupid dickwads, and I didn’t use your name so bite me.) (That’s legal, right?)

I am convinced that there is a built-in life span for all electronic products. Right around the time the warranty wears off, let’s say a couple of days after, all hell breaks loose. So for the latter half of August, our internet hub gave us sketchy phone and internet at best and finally stopped working COMPLETELY about a month ago. Dear Hubby, in all his masculine beauty, caressed my panicked forehead, deepened his voice an octave, grabbed the phone and said “I shall take care of this, my gorgeous and darling wife, as I know how important the web is to you.” You buying that last part? Yeah, me neither. *sigh*

But what should have been easy ended up with the said company sending us the wrong  $150 dollar part (that you can’t get anywhere else. Clever.), charging us for it plus shipping AND signing us up for another 2 years WITHOUT our consent. Oh boy. To top matters off, when Dear Hubs called 4 times to rectify this bullshit, he got YELLED at by the senior v.p. in charge of this fuckery. Hence no internet and no home phone. Does anyone know what this sort of thing does to a blogger? I’ve taken to writing things on paper in longhand and shoving it in the faces of frightened strangers saying “Can you read this? And comment? Tell me I’m funny, nice stranger! PLEASE!” How I haven’t been arrested is beyond me.

Wait. I’m supposed to be writing about things that make me Happy. Okey dokey.

One good and grand thing happened this summer that I haven’t had the chance to post about, what with the above, the dead dog, depression, what not. Ready? Are You Ready?

I got invited to be in an e-book. AND I got published in an e-book! Squeals! Joyous armpit farts!

It’s called All Cracked Up and is a collective of bloggers that are some of the finest humorists and story tellers EVER! Seriously, I read it and tears rolled down my face. I actually felt out of my league, that’s how good these folks are. Here’s the link.


If you do yourself one favour, buy this and snort laugh along with me. You’re welcome.

You know what? I do feel kind of …well, not happy, but less Monday-ish. But Monday can still suck it.

Oh and we got a new puppy but that’s a post for another day, which will happen soon because FUCK YEAH! We have internet again!

And don’t use any service that rhymes with Snodgers. They yell when they think they’re right.

Family Vacation (Now With More Snakes)

I have so many posts I have to write but due to absolutely craptastic internet connection and rampant depression I’m behind. To catch you up on my summer, I’ll use three words:It sucked shit.

I took forever to heal from my appendix surgery, as my stupid body is getting old and cranky about such things as being cut open. I remember the days I could fall down a flight of stairs or get in a knife fight and be up and around in a week. (Only one of those is true, surprisingly.) So I mostly laid around and gained weight. I also had to put my old dog down and that was terrible. And I ended up with bronchitis. The end.

Kidding. But yes, I have been battling an epic case of depression. To the point I just felt like giving up, laying my head down and letting it all go on without me. But that’s not who I am. The anger sets in and I get furiously busy being furious at my mood. Then I start making lists. Lists of what I’m afraid of, what’s holding me back, why I never let this depressed me win out. What I would say to myself if I had the chance to step out of my head and give myself one hell of a good talking to. It goes something like this:

Smarten the fuck up! Life is for the living! You have a child! Get on with it! Look at this place! Clean it up! It could be so much worse! You could live near snakes!

Snakes? My primal fear. I will repeat my feeling on snakes for you. Ahem.

The only good snake is a snake that eats another snake, feels guilty about it and then commits Hara Kiri.~Leanne Moffat (Yes.You may quote me.)

I decided we needed to salvage some of the summer, get away from our grief, me to get over myself. Here in Alberta there is an interesting place called Drumheller. They’ve found many dinosaur skeletons there and have a wonderful museum. It’s also home to a place called Reptile World that has all manner of nightmare inducing reptiles. Destroying primal fear and dinosaurs? Can you say two birds with one stone? Off we went.

The World’s Biggest Tourist Trap, I mean Dinosaur.

We paid $29 to climb 100 steps in 30C heat. We took a picture to prove we’re idiots.

RAWR! (I just wanted to type that once in my life.)

I managed to hold him still for a moment.

A good perspective. Mildly interesting for the boy. For 6 seconds.

He’s good here and happy, because I had to tickle him to make him smile. Miserable little bastard.

Look at the sunshiney joy in his face! All because I said something like “Get the hell away from the canyon edge!”

“Hold it? Okay!” Notice my hovering, ready to grab it and kill it.

Now this, this is COOL!

At this point, I had a nice convo with the young, sweet snake man. He said “Would you like to hold her?” I asked him if red made her pissed off, like a bull. “Um, no, they can’t see colour.” You’re certain she won’t get all bitey with me? Because of the red? “Um, well, she’s 18 and she has bitten anyone yet.” I’m certain he’s lying but go ahead. Primal fear, be damned!

Oh Dear God! I’m about to hold a fucking snake!


I’m alright…I wish it would quit fucking moving.

Okay, it’s been 2 seconds. I think that might be enough now.

I did it! I held a SNAKE! Yay me! I actually even watched them eat. I learned. Fear now over.

That’s this one for now. Oh wait. One more.

Signs all over telling you not to crawl on or hump the fake mini dinosaurs. Hello? Dangling candy in front of an immature woman!

A good fun trip. It helped. Broke the funk.

I am getting happier, sillier day by day.  Fingers crossed.

Love you all.

A Dog Shaped Hole In My Heart

I got Daisy when I was 31. I was living with one of, if not the best abusers on the face of the earth. He happened to be a police officer which made him that much better at it. He knew how not to leave marks. Every day was an interrogation, a trial, which I inevitably failed at. I lost 20 pounds in less than 6 months. I didn’t eat. I barely slept. Panic attacks became my reality and I started to shake when I knew he’d be coming home. He decided to move us out to the country. I believe it was just to have more control over me and less prying eyes.  At that time, I decided I needed a dog, as an alarm, as protection from cougars and bears.To let me know when he was coming home. And of course because I needed company.

My parents had come to visit and while they didn’t know precisely what was going on, I think on some level my dad knew how bad it all was. Without any forethought and with the abusive ratbastard beside him, my Dad bought me a puppy.

He handed it to me as if it  were a gold-plated sapphire. “It’s a female! There was some guy selling them outside of a tire shop! She was only 50 bucks! She peed on me on the way here but that’s okay. She seemed like the quietest one.” And lo, I had a dog.

I found out within a few days why she was the “quietest one”. She was sick. So, so sick. Didn’t eat, wouldn’t drink. I made 3 trips to the vet, Daisy staying overnight with an I.V., just to bring that poor sick little puppy around. Abusive ratbastard kept raging about how a bullet would be cheaper than that fucking dog. I didn’t care. In less than 2 months, she went from a $50 dog to a $900 dog. But she was mine. The more he tried to crush me, the more I loved the dog. When I thought about ending me, I stayed here for the dog.

I think I’d had Daisy 3 months when I left. She gave me the strength and love to move on. After that, it became “love me, love my dog”. Two years later, she went on the second date I had with my hubby. He passed the test.

Daisy was with me through our courtship, baby and marriage. She was treated as a member of our family. My hubby bonded with her when Daisy went fishing with him and had to lick every fish he caught. When she greeted him at the door at the end of the day. And when we brought our new baby son home, she sniffed him head to toe and wagged her tail, as she finally had her own child to play with.

I kept her here for maybe 2 years longer than I should have. Her hips were gone, to the point that she had to be helped up a couple of steps to get into the house. She was losing her bladder control. Her breath. I made the decision last Saturday. I knew. She knew. We were both very brave as we took our final walk and car ride. She had chicken for breakfast and a hot fudge sundae as a treat. Chocolate is bad for dogs but on their last day here exceptions can be made. I held her and thanked her for all she’d meant. She butted foreheads with me, which was her “I love you and I get it” sign. It was peaceful. And my heart broke.

We went away for a few days this week as a distraction from our grief. When we got home I checked messages. The vet had phoned and Daisy’s ashes had arrived at the office. I dropped everything and told my boys,”I’m going to pick up our girl and bring her home.” They both got teary and nodded.

Tonight is a blue moon and we sprinkled her ashes around the yard she loved so much. How perfect. How fitting for my rare dog.

Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened. ~Anatole France 

Bye, Daisy. Good girl!

If You Were Going Blind…

And you knew it, what would be the one thing you’d really like to see before you couldn’t anymore? Tough question, isn’t it.

I’ve been following for a couple of years or so. Van is a wonderful guy and a good read. (Go there. You’re welcome.) But this post got me all weepy. (Van will do that to you without meaning to, trust me!) It got me to thinking about my Uncle Brad and his journey with Retinitis Pigmentosa. If Brad would have had the cognitive abilities and the communication skills to tell us that his vision was disappearing over the years, maybe we could have taken him to see something wonderful to him.( I know what it would have been. Michigan. Brad found out his Grandparents immigrated from there and since then, it’s been U.S.A. all the way! His most prized possessions are a Michigan hat and map.) Alas, we never knew.

But Jim does. And as I sit here, typing and teary, I think, “How awesome and wonderful that he has a chance to prepare, to see something he can remember forever.” While there is not a thing I can do for Brad, maybe I can help get Leafs tickets for Van, Jim and Bubs.

So here goes. Canada and the Toronto Maple Leafs: We’ve gone from 6 Degrees of Separation down to 4.74 That means I need to go through just a bit less than 5 of you to be able to get tickets! They are in TO the week of 11/26/2012, and the Flyers/Leafs game is the 28th. So pretty please, if anyone can help out, let me know. Or Van. And I thank you.

Why am I doing this? Helping a stranger?

Why not? 4.74 degrees isn’t much. We might be able to do something very cool. And Van always seems to pay it forward.

Now, my Ducks. The tough question. If you were going blind, what would you like to see before you couldn’t anymore?

Love to you all.


I’ll Likely Win A Prize For This. Or Not.

It’s time for some search engine updates. If you’ve been here before you’ll know I get some of the damnedest searches that lead folks to this humble blog. And they slay me every time. This is also the way I tend to break out of a writer’s block. And I’m blocked, Baby, let me tell you. I’ve been working on a couple of things over the past few weeks and so far I have written “The”. I feel a Pulitzer in my future, oh yes I does.


female gunt

Why did you have to google that? Tell you what, you just hustle your ass down to Wally World or any good old-fashioned Monster Truck show and you will see the gunt. The gunt is not hidden there. The gunt shows itself proudly. The gunt has no shame. And every time you see the gunt, you must utter “The Gunt Abides” for no other reason than I said so.

everyone looks at me during yoga

That’s because your boob fell out of your top. It’s okay. It happens to the best of us.

shitting in my yoga pants

Um, I take back what I just said. I think I know why they are staring at you now.

fucking bored at sixty

Mom? Is that you? Go knit something.

grannies need a shag too

MOTHER!!! Get off the computer or I’m phoning Dad! Jesus…

what does it mean when someone says you look different in a good way

Well, they’re probably being a bitch. Don’t hang out with them anymore. (Either that or it’s back to that yoga pants thing and they’re trying to be nice. Are they standing far away from you when they said it? Check for shit.)

how can i show my boobs to my neighbour casually

Hmm. That’s tricky but I’ll try to help. Try pressing them up against the window when you are cleaning. Better yet, get a couple of those swiffer floor washing pads and stick `em right on your bare hoots and rub your hoots against the glass. It’ll seem way less obvious.

jesus holds my hand

Sweet. He’ll also hold your hair back if you are vomiting after a night of drinking. He has for me, anyway. At least I think it was him. All I remember was calling “Oh Jesus!” as I retched and someone showed up. But I was drunk so I can’t be sure.

i really like your beard, can I touch it with my vagina

I don’t know who you are but you are responsible for my husband growing a beard so I can say that to him all. the. time.

sore nostril

That might be because of that fantastic beard you have and all the vagina it’s attracting. Shave. Take a week off. Or get your finger out of your nose. Either one.

And my personal favorite,


*Batting lashes, blushing, giggling coyly* Me? No. Stop it! (Come back here any time, you silver tongued devil!)

That’s it, my Ducks. Feel free to share your best search terms in the comments. And yes, I still love you.


Sex Advice For The Rest Of Us

Sex is a hot topic as of late, due in part to that book ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’. I haven’t read it as I just assumed she was like me and discussing her hair. It’s some sort of erotic fiction, bondage fantasy and I’ve read that the main fellow has very big fingers, which I suppose could be an asset if you are making obscene gestures in traffic but it kind of made me shudder with revulsion. (Leanne’s Life Rule #2: Pick your gynecologist and proctologist by the size of his hands. Just trust me on this. Smaller is better.)

Now we all know I have far, far too much time on my hands and periodically I will read a so-called sex advice column, just to see if there is anything “new” I should be aware of.  Truthfully, there isn’t, although I have been frightened by some of the things I’ve read (don’t ask) and heartily entertained by others. What I’ve noticed is the lack of common sense advice for all of us old marrieds who’ve done the deed at least 7,000 times. Sure, there are the Spice It Up articles but let’s be honest. If you’ve watched the same movie twice a week for the past ten years, you know how it’s going to end. It doesn’t matter if you fast forward or skip a few parts, someone is narrowly going to escape death in the final couple of minutes.

I think perhaps what is needed are some do’s and don’ts for us middle-aged monogamists. Just reminders, shall we say.

1. Don’t yawn.

I really can’t stress this enough. I don’t care how tired or bored you are, yawning during coitus is rude and knocks your partner off their ‘A’ game. And then 11 minutes turns into 15 and that will be the longest 4 minutes of your life. If you feel a yawn coming on, pretend you are overwhelmed by passion and turn it into an operatic song. You get your yawn out and your partner thinks they’ve done something incredible because my god, she actually sang! Win-Win, people.

2. Be very careful what new toys you bring home.

You may think it’s going to be fun but if you’ve never used a ball gag and mask in your sexy time before, you might scare the living hell out of your spouse. Certain spouses may actually believe that you are about to finally kill them. Looks around, makes finger pointy gesture behind hand at the other spouse that lives here. Same rule applies for handcuffs, billy clubs and oversize dildos. Apparently. I mean, I’ve heard. *cough*

3. Think twice before you surprise your partner.

Thursday after beers with your buddies might seem like a good time to enact your secret zombie rape fantasy, but if you leap out of nowhere growling at your mate in the middle of the night when she is on her way to pee, you are likely going to get punched in the throat. There will also be a pool of urine that needs cleaning up after the tussle.

4. Remove all distractions from the bedroom.

This includes dogs (it’s best to not have extraneous panting because it just ruins everyone’s rhythm), television (watching the game and yelling “Go, you sonofabitch!” is confusing) and the internet (although twitter is funny, it’s not nice to laugh at someone else while in the act).

5. Be positive.

Saying “What the hell was that?” or “Where did all this hair come from? Feels like a bear’s ass.” isn’t good for anyone’s ego. Other words off-limits are speedy, shorty, smelly and canyon. A thumbs up and “I appreciate your work” leaves everyone feeling good about themselves. Also acceptable is a naked “touchdown” dance move. That’s just funny!

The last bit of advice I can give you is probably the most important. As you age, skin cancer can show up. Please check for moles while you’re down there. That’s called “killing two birds with one stone.” Again, Win-Win.

You. Are. Welcome.

Let me know if you need more.

Take What You Need

Have you seen this?

This was taped to my rural mail box today. I don’t know who took the time or made the effort. What did I take?

A handful of patience. Something I can be in short supply of. But I have some now, thanks to a well-meaning stranger.

What would you take? Share here if you want. Or go here.!/pages/Take-What-You-Need-Project/274795155887141

Even better, make some, and let’s plaster this world with random blessings.

Words have power. Even words taped to a mailbox in the country.

Love to you all.


Rules of Life – Part One

Do we need to have this conversation? Really? Again? Well, alright. Here goes.

Mama Leanne’s Life Rules – Version 1,137

No 1.

One of, if not The stupidest rules I’ve ever heard is “Don’t go to bed angry.” What bollocky bullshit! Anyone in a long-term relationship or marriage has had the Stupid Fight that without warning spirals out of control into something ridiculous, inane and hurtful. We get emotional and each of us in our own way goes for the jugular.

Your toenails are like Eagle Talons! You fucking know you are leaving scars on my ankles EVERY night! It’s deliberate, I know it!

Oh yeah? Well my mom is a better COOK than you!

Gasp! Hurt tears. Plotting of untimely death of spouse…

Here’s my rule. Leave the fight. Go have a bath, hide in the office, take a walk, whatever, but Leave it. Let it lie. Sleep on it. Sleep is the great cure for nonsensical bullshit.

Note: The bed is also a great spot for passive/aggressive release. If you are still pissed off, you can steal covers, fart repeatedly and if you are in a slaughtering, mischievous mood, you may also place your obese feline friend ever so carefully across your partner’s throat. All of these work well to defuse anger. I’ve heard.

No 2.

If I work with you but barely know you otherwise, DO NOT tell me your problems. First, I probably don’t give a rat’s ass beyond the level of concern that I would give to a kleenex I just blew my nose into and second, it’s WORK, not free therapy. I don’t need to hear how your husband is an asshole, your kids are dildos and you have a hemorrhoid the size of a goat! Find a friend, get some help but as a rule, leave your fucking co-workers alone! It’s WORK! That’s why they call it that. ( And if I continue to feel your hot breath on my mid-back as you sneak up behind me to spew your dullard view of life, I will start walking around with my elbows out. You are short and if I turn fast, you’re gonna get it in the throat. Accidentally, of course.)

No. 3

There is absolutely no call ever to belch in public. Ever. There are no exceptions to this. Unless you are in a Burp Off, at which point you may be a semi-professional belcher and I might like to hear that. But otherwise, no. Just no. Same goes for a public crotch scratch. Don’t do that. (Why is your crotch so itchy anyway??? For the love of god, you’ve been going at that thing non-stop for like a minute!  I think you may need to see a doctor, Lady.) *moving back from the scratcher several feet.*


This rule goes well with No.3.

If you are going to offend someone, do it well and out loud. No point in being all namby-pamby. *shakes head at self, calls self a silly twat, wonders why self is referring to self as self, thinks self may have finally cracked up, possibly due to the overnight fart and cat smother fight self and husband had.*

No. 5

This may be the most important rule of all:

Never, never, ever, EVER go to an inexperienced waxer. Never, ever, ever. *wandering around with a bow-legged cant and a small bag of frozen peas on what is Formerly Known As The Black Hole, now known as %&*@!#&@%, singing ‘Purple Rain’ softly*

That’s it for now. If you need more, let me know. I can likely save the world with this blog. Probably.

Disclaimer: All resemblance to persons living, dead or zombified, and any similarities to any circumstances that you may think you’ve been in are purely coincidental. Probably. Except that crotch scratching one. That was totally you. Seriously, go see a doctor. Now.