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.


Dreams, Diet and The Eye Shat

Wow. It’s quiet in here…

Which is odd, as I just woke up from a dream in which the Dalai Lama actually asked me to leave his four star resort/meditation monastery because I could not stop talking during meditation. In my dream it was a terrible misunderstanding, as we were in the midst of a releasing excercise and one of those old highschool mama’s boys (you know the ones) burst into tears because he said I was standing on the fake grave he’d imagined for his mother, who hadn’t died yet. I tried to explain that it was unintentional, but mammas boy wouldn’t listen to reason. I also tried to explain that it was a fake invisible grave, so how the hell would I know where he put it but the D.L. told me I was being disruptive and asked me to go. He was very nice about it. But still. I then went to find hubby to get him to pack up, and as it turns out, he had found a new friend and was in the attached sports bar watching the hockey game. I tell you, that is some fancy Buddhist retreat. I should really be the business manager for the Buddhists. Ideas, my friend, ideas.

So in the past while, I’ve been trying to lose some weight. It’s not that I’m big, but if I don’t change my habits now, this winter I’ll be giving Santa a run for his money. As I’ve always burned most of what I’ve eaten, this whole weight gain and loss thing is a flipping mystery to me. I really feel for people who struggle with this their whole lives. But I’ve started eating way too much. To combat this, I am eating a lot of Middle Eastern food, things like couscous, dal, and humus. Yes, my friends, I reek of garlic and onion! Can you smell me over there? My hubby keeps asking if I have any gum. And I keep trying to neck with him. S’fun.

I’ve also started taking a fiber supplement that its supposed to fill you up. It also cleans out every dark, forgotten corner of your bowel, which is okay, because I’m a bit of a neat freak. But it has an unfortunate side effect of producing extremely loud gas. With every step you take. While it is not malodorous, it is going to be a bit inconvenient. Today, in turn, I have made the small dog bark, the big dog look at me and ask “Is that gunfire?”, and I also managed to make the cat stop his frantic licking of his non-existent balls (they’ve been gone 3 years! Give it up, already!), and with his tongue still hanging out, he looked at me and said “Good God, Woman! Was that you?” I generally don’t enjoy flatulence, and I try to avoid it at all costs. But this… this could be fun! It’s like having my own personal stock of chinese firecrackers up my ass! I think I’ll try to punctuate everything I say to my family with a nice loud bang.

I’ve also had an unwanted guest for about the last month. I have a clogged tear duct that has taken on a life of its own. Honestly, this thing has started to grow arms and even a mouth. It’s been talking to me in the middle of the night. “Hey. How you doing?” “Okay. Could you leave now?” “Nooooo. I like it here. Shhhh. Go back to sleep. Dream of the Dalai Lama. Shhhhh… Lullaby and good nite…”Oddly enough, it sounds an awful lot like William Shatner. While I love the Shat and his velvet voice, I think maybe I’ve been listening to his new cd too much. That is courtesy of my dear hubby, who puts it on, giggles and sings/talks right along with it. Obviously, neither of us has a life.

I went to my physician after not being able to get it to go away on my own. “Hmmm…” he said.

“Can I poke at it?”

Umm, no.

I quote directly:”Come on, let me poke at it! Don’t be a baby!”

I let him poke at it. No one calls me a baby! I even held the lighty thingy for him. Would it be okay to tell you that it hurt like a BITCH when he was done. And nothing happened. So with a “Thanks, asshole” on my part, he’s decided to send me to a opthamologist. Tomorrow.  I’m a bit sad to see Eye Shat go, as we’ve built a bit of a relationship. But I’d like to be able to wear mascara again at Christmas.

Hubby asked me how I’d feel if I had to wear an eye patch. I told him I would then get to pretend I was a pirate. And I would talk like one all. the. time.

Arrrr, matey. A gassy,windy pirate with my own built-in cannon sounds. I think I have my Halloween costume ready for next year! Squeal!

Wish me luck.

October Part One

Ready? Because this may a long one. October has been very busy. Like really busy. Like shoot myself in the head just to be unbusy busy. With events. Parties, everything from a BBQ to meet the neighbours to a fancy dress up dinner party, to our anniversary, and back to the neighbours for a Halloween party, then to Halloween itself. Just for shits and giggles, I’ve been sick this whole month. Even better, I can’t really breathe. I’ll get to that later, but there were photos promised, and stories to go with such, so I’ll start where I can. Give you a glimpse into this craziness. I may have to nap in the middle, so bear with me.

My hubby had an awards banquet at a smancy hotel on the exact day that the world decided to OCCUPY in support of the protestors on Wall St. Now if that isn’t something to make a thinking person feel uncomfortable. As we were driving into the city to stay at the lovely mansion where said dinner was, we passed the protestors. We honked in support and|I noticed how neat and orderly they all were. A good Canadian protest! Safety first, please stay on the sidewalk. You ever hear that joke “How do you get 50 Canadians out of a pool?” You say “Okay. Everybody out of the pool!” S’true. Anyway, we all dressed up, and my best guess was that there were around 300 of us being treated to $100 a plate dinner and a quick glad hand and paparazzi shot with the provincial CEO as he gave each lucky employee with 5, 10, 15, etc. years of service a lovely pin to wear on the lapel of the suit they will only wear to this function. Did I mention we all got our rooms on the company? Well, you can do the math. My hubby, who is generally reticent about social injustices (god knows he’d have to be with me as a wife. I am always tirading about something) asked our young Asian busboy if he and the others got to partake of the rest of our banquet. Fair question. A lot of food left. Young fellow said no, it gets tossed. My dear spouse about shit himself at the waste. And on Monday, when asked by one of the brass how he enjoyed it all, he made sure to mention that “it’s bullshit” that all that food was thrown away. Hubby’s idea was perhaps a soup kitchen would have been happy with it all. This is ranty, I know. It’s nice to be acknowledged for hard work, but it seems like it may be time to move away from 1980’s excess and into a more socially conscious way of rewarding employees. Just saying.

Hubby, Me, Bombshell, Bombshell's Man.

Why do I always end up with pics like these?

A week later was our sixth anniversary. I’ll tell you a short story about our wedding day, just to lighten things up.

We’d been together for a fair bit of time and had a son before we actually bothered to get married. We are pretty casual, so we wanted something small and easy. And as neither of us are particularly of a religious bent, having it in a church seemed kind of wrong. Plus, we’re flat out sinners. We’re okay with it. At any rate, I pretty much found a guy through the yellow pages who sounded like he could be the man for the job. He also took care of the licence as well so it was one stop shopping. We went to his house to meet him and he led us into his office to make arrangements. He was personable, friendly. He was going to say what we wanted. He also had on his walls innumerable certificates from the Freemasons. I’m also fairly sure he also had some guy’s finger preserved for use as a bookmark, but I may have just been a wee bit scared.

So all good, with a price tag of $50, legal and everything. He arrived at the hotel about 3 minutes before we were to marry, red-faced, slurring and reeking of booze. He told us this was his third wedding of the day, and as he paid for parking, we owed him an extra $2 bucks. Hubby and I kinda glanced at each other and with that unspoken ‘sounds about right‘ look went ahead and did the deed.

I'm trying not to giggle. You see how red his face is?

We look a little stunned. Did we just get married by a drunk Mason?

The best part? See how we are holding hands tightly behind my back? Neither of us has let go yet. I don’t think we ever will. I couldn’t have picked someone better to share this funny bumpy ride with. Happy anniversary, Honey.

Oh, holy shit! I didn’t show you the best part of my month yet!!! Remember a while back when I was worried about weaponry for the impending doomsday? Look what I got!

Mama in her rocker. GET OFF MY PROPERTY!!!

Guns from my Daddy!!! He sent out a few, but this is my favorite because it’s held together with electrical tape! It’s just so hillbilly I can’t even tell you. How the fuck do you expect it to shoot? What? Oh fine. Hubby says they were gifts to “the family“. Whatever. They are mine! Seriously though, I love this picture. Me, looking all elegant in my sweats and jewellery, with the septic tank in the background. God. So much right about this photo…

Halloween. We went to a party at my neighbors on Saturday. It was something. Every room in their house had decorations, from a jumping 2 foot spider to broom that danced by itself and a smoke machine. She told me she has 15 tubs of decorations. It was a sight to behold and I congratulate her on her spirit. Some pics.

Me and Hubby. He won a prize for best costume.

The host and I.

Smurfette. She had wine for me when I need it most. I love her.

Leaping 2 foot spider. Scared the fuck outta everyone!

Some decorations.

Hubby did this one.

Now I only have a few words of advice about partying with your neighbours. First, if they drink shooters, get ready to get to know them verrrrryyyyy well. There was a neighbour, who I don’t think gets out very much, that proposed an orgy very early in the evening. To me. And another married woman. Couple of guys. Yeah. Like that. Probably shouldn’t do that if you have to come to my house in a few days and make small talk while your kids trick or treat. Just saying.

Well I warned you I’d need a nap half way through! I need a good long eight-hour nap. I’ll try to get back tomorrow and tell you about this not breathing thing and what I’m going to do about it.  Hope you enjoyed this. And that you had a great October.

Oh and Al, gonna work on that rss thing. This blog is only 7 months old, for chrissake! I can’t be expected to get to everything…

Cheers, Folks. Have a lovely day!

Holy Crone

Son and I went out for breakfast at a fast food joint this morning.

As we were getting buckled  in the car, there came a rap-rap-rapping on the window. I looked at the bairn, he looked at me. Huh?

As I turned to look around, a 275 year old woman was pulling open my car door.

Amazing what can go through your mind in an instant. Did I hit her?!? I haven’t started the car yet! Is it Halloween? Does she want a treat? A ride? What the fuck?

Sorry to startle you, Dear. I just wanted to give you this magazine. Very good reading material! And with serious, frowny eyes, “How would you feel if you knew god was lying to you?”

Oh, uh, trying to keep a lump of egg and flour in my gorge where it belongs but wants to rise from the terror I feel from the old crones bony hand on my car door, Well…

Truthfully, I’d feel like pealing the fuck out of this parking lot because you just scared the piss out of me! I didn’t say that. Respect for elders, whatnot.


Where are you from, Dear?

I stared at her earrings. Stained glass. Pretty. And I didn’t want to make eye contact for fear that this ancient woman’s god would see the image I held in my mind of prying her skeletal digits off my door and shrieking “Mugger! Mugger!”. Just for giggles, right?

“Um, Edson?” I just lied to one of gods messengers! Holy fuck,what am I doing? Holy fuck, did he hear that? Holy fuck!

“Really? I’m from Edson!”

Goddamnit. “Uh, well, we haven’t been there very long…”

Some quick small talk, and with a have a good day, off the old boot sprinted across the lot to her minivan. Damn, she was fast. Like a ninja.

Son said “Who was that, Mom?”

Well, honey, some people want you to know their god. Normally they come to the house and daddy talks to them, but apparently, they are under a budget crunch like the rest of us and are now using parking lots to up their quotas. It’s all a numbers game, son.

We drove toward home and stopped for a train. Curiosity got the better of this duck. Let’s just see here…

I opened the rag and on page four was a picture of the Messiah with three noses, three mouths, and one set of eyes. He looked like one of those weird side-show calf’s that dies shortly after birth but some wacko preserves it and displays it so we can all go ‘Yucky! How fucked up is that?’.

It scared me. I yelped “Jesus Christ!” To which my six-year-old replied, “Yes? What’s up?” Love that kid…

We got home and I phoned Christ, known to me as J.C. He’s gangsta now, did you know?

After being on hold for like 15 minutes, J.C. finally picked up. “Hey, Gurl!!!”

Hey. Listen those pictures of you? The one with the extra sniffers and cakeholes? That’s just so wrong!

Dude, I know right? When buddy was painting it, I said to keep it real! No use scaring the bejesus outta people! Get it? Hnyuh? Hynuh?

I hung up. When Christ thinks he’s being “funny” you may as well not even bother.

This eve, I pondered and came to a conclusion. If you want to save my soul, you need to send someone hot to do it. Someone with a french accent. Even hotter. And for god’s sake, try to make being holy look like fun. Life’s hard enough without being bossed around some scary looking guy that gives you nightmares.

Just saying.

Just A Tampon

*This is in no way an endorsement and I didn’t get paid for this post.* There, that’s taken care of. But really, if you are a tampon marketer, you should read this.

At the store this morning, I just blindly grabbed a box of tampons. This has been going on 30 years. I pretty much know what I’m getting. But when I got home, as I was putting them away, I decide to read the box.(I had a little time on my hands.) Holy shit! Without my knowledge, tampons have  become “cute”. When the fuck did this happen? And why?

Seriously, the box is rather startling to me. Are teenage girls that shallow and so easily targeted by the ad men that they make these purchases based on what the box looks like or says? Is this a new popularity thing?

“OMG! Your tampon is soooo cute!!!! What brand is that? My mom has to get me some!!!!! I bet it would look great with that new purple t-shirt I got!!!! I’m gonna phone her now!”

I kid you not, the box says ‘secretly super’. ! I needed that exclamation point just to let you now the tone of the box. ‘Daringly protective,delightfully small! ‘ On the back, it has directions (cute) that say ‘ready,click, go!‘ and that cute little tampon looks like it’s flying out of the applicator at mach 10. Fuck me! That is just frightening people!!!! You really do not that kind of speed with ANYTHING down there. I don’t choose my gynecologist because he is fast! I choose him because he’s got small hands!!

Where the hell are the tampons for me and the other girls who’ve squeezed out 10 pound babies? I have the ad already in my mind:

Bovine Sized Vagina Protection!!!!! This thing will absorb ANYTHING!!!!! Caution: No swimming or hot tubbing. Your tampon WILL hold up to 300 gallons. Embarrassment and possible death will ensue. (Your cha cha may explode.) And no!!! You don’t have to shoot it into you!!! Can be applied slowly and carefully!

I heard a story from a gal a few years back. She was in a line up at a shop, buying her tampons. Huge line up behind her. The checkout girl asked the sweet young teenage stock boy for a price check on her maypax. To which he responded “Is that the push in or the hammer in kind?” Everyone turned with that gaping look we all get, and stared at him, like what the fuck? He said “Thumb tacks. The push in, or hammer in kind?” Poor woman had a moment right there. She thought ‘Oh great. Everyone thinks I hammer in my tampons’.

Maybe that’s a marketing ploy. Real big ones that you have to use a mallet to get in? I don’t know. I’m just so fucking concerned about my new cute tampons. I’m not sure if I should have them displayed proudly on top of my purse? Will I ‘fit in’ with the cool girls? I’ll ask my husband.

“Hey! Do these tampons make me look younger?”