Pottery Class Gone Wrong

We got kicked out of pottery class last week, which in retrospect, I guess I understand. We weren’t as interested in the pottery class per say as we were in recreating that sexy clay scene from Ghost. We even had Unchained Melody queued up on hubby’s iPhone set to play at precisely the right moment, which was right after he removed his shirt and sat behind me. The teacher was horrified and disturbed by this, and asked us to leave immediately and never come back. We didn’t really understand where she was coming from though because we were actually making a really nice piece of pottery. I guess recapturing a memorable scene from one of the most romantic love scenes ever is a no-no when you are taking pottery. Or perhaps we should have recreated a scene where the focus was more on the pottery itself, and less on the love… Maybe then she would have been happy. We aren’t sure. But what we are sure of is that we are out $125 bucks each.

Whatever. I will stick to buying unique kitschy pottery on Etsy rather than attempting to make it myself. Fuck you pottery class. Fuck you!

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The Santa Debacle

After a week of puking, ear infections, sick cranky kids fighting every 5 minutes, and house-bound lock down – Christmas Eve was a welcome arrival. I even got us out of the house at a reasonable time and arrived at my parents house for 2 o’clock (normally unheard of for me). But this year I was an incident away from having a complete nervous breakdown and needed to get this thing we call Christmas underway for the sake of my mental health, and my daughters (who would surely be helicoptered into the wall if they had one more fight, whined or screamed in my ear one more time). I was teetering on the brink and they knew it. So I put on my happy excited Christmas Eve face and got us out the door and up to the bustling metropolis of Cayuga, Ontario – population 1500, presents in tow.

Christmas Eve is the only evening of the year when my normally bedtime allergic children ask if they can go to bed continually between the hours of 5pm and 7pm hearing a resounding NO from me. My reasoning is purely selfish. Because I know that I am going to be up until 2 or 3am playing Santa and getting drunk with the adults and don’t want them potentially waking at 5am to drag my hungover ass out of bed so they can start opening their presents. Around 7 we watched Despicable Me while my crazy 14 month old nephew pulled hair, gave us Manchester Hello’s (shockingly painful head butts), got up and down from the sofa 65 or 70 times, screamed and tried to eat our feet with his sharp little baby teeth leaving our socks wet with his strategic slobber.

At 9 o’clock bed time had finally arrived and the girls couldn’t have been happier. They had literally waited ALL DAY to go to bed and all of the waiting had finally paid off. In my family we have a tradition (a British thing) where the kids choose a pillow sack from the linen closet, place it at the foot of the bed (to be filled by Santa) and leave cookies and milk beside the bed along with a carrot for the reindeer. Well my mom makes a legendary spiced carrot soup and had chopped up all of the carrots for the soup. Everyone KNOWS you can’t give a reindeer carrot coins, so we instead told the girls that the reindeer were getting tired of carrots, (because everyone leaves carrots) and that they should instead give them parsnips, because parsnips are like luxury carrots, but taste way better. This satisfied their Christmas Even logistical requirements, and we set off to their bedroom to leave the spread out for Santa.

At about 11 o’clock after a few gin and tonics I decided to venture outside in the snow to go to my car where Santa’s gifts were hiding. None of them were wrapped. I was going to leave them unwrapped in their sacks this year until my mom said “what do you mean you’re not going to wrap them? Well that ruins the fun.” So her guilt trip was successful. I felt guilty and started an assembly line of wrapping with my mom, sister and aunt – interrupting our game of Euchre. We had the gifts all wrapped pretty quickly and set in the living room ready to be drop shipped into their bedroom where they would be sleeping soundly while visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.

This British custom of going into their bedrooms to drop the presents at the bottom of their beds, removing the cookies, milk and carrots and returning the cup and plates to their proper place was RISKY business. Every year you run the risk of your children discovering that Santa is no more than a tipsy parent hiccuping into their room with presents pretending to consume raw carrots (or in my case parsnips), cookies and milk. The logistics always made me nervous.

We had our first mission attempt at about midnight. My mom slowly opened their door, swiped their pillow cases and had her hand hovered over the cookie plate  until one of my daughters sat up abruptly and said “what are you doing Grandma?” My mom thinking quickly said “Uhhh nothing sweetie. Go to sleep. Just making sure Santa’s cookies and milk are alright.” She left the room unsuccessful and we realized it was perhaps too early for this mission. We continued playing cards and had a couple more drinks. Shortly before 2am, with everyone tired and ready for bed –  a second attempt was made. This time my dad tried, citing that he had done this for years for my sister, brother and I and knew the exact timing and process to pull off a successful operation. He slowly turned the handle on the door to their room, snuck in with their (now full sacks) of presents and quickly backed out shouting “NO. GO TO SLEEP.” He exited their room saying “shit she’s not going to sleep.” After my dad’s exit, I could now hear chatter coming from the bedroom. My sleepless daughter had woken up her twin sister and they were now looking around the room and putting pieces of this puzzle together.

I had to intervene and FAST.

I went into their room and laid down with them. “Mommy I saw Dandad come into our room with a pillow sack and it was full of presents and now Santa isn’t gonna be able to bring us our presents.” She started to whine and sob about Santa not being here yet and asking questions that I wasn’t prepared to answer. “Shhhh” I said “Go to sleep. Santa can’t come until you’re sleeping.” By this time her sister also had some commentary to add to the situation. “Well mommy Santa isn’t here yet and what if he doesn’t come to our house?”. Growing tired of their objecting little voices, I shushed them and raised my voice “Well if you don’t go to sleep then maybe he won’t come because you’ll mess up his entire route. You wouldn’t want that would you?  GO TO SLEEP.” Five minutes of silence went by and the questions and whining started up again. I stood up and said “That’s it – Santa is going to have to eat his cookies in the living room because you won’t go to sleep!” I grabbed the milk and two plates and exited the room with them crying “Noooooo mommy no” behind me. I gave them to my dad and returned to their room to lay down with them again. “Dandad has called the North Pole” I told them “and Santa is going to leave your gifts in the living room this year since you won’t go to sleep and you’ll mess up his route if he has to wait for you.”

I started to see the slight break of day by the time they both finally fell asleep, I estimate it must have been about 6:30 or 7am. I managed to get a couple of hours of sleep in before they shockingly awoke on Christmas morning. I woke up to my sleepless daughter screaming “SANTA DIDN’T COME MOMMY” running out of the room crying. My other daughter threw herself on the bed, face into the pillow bawling intensely. This before I have had a chance to fully open my eyes and process what was happening. “No no, he left your stuff in the living room remember?” I said to her. “No he didn’t.” she shouted. “He didn’t come.” As my dramatic daughter cried into her pillow beside me, with me telling her to go look in the living room – her twin sister who ran out of the room was now screaming with glee as she discovered the presents Santa left for her in the living room, and observed the empty plates and milk glass. This perked up her bawling sister who sprung out of bed and ran into the living room excitedly – ready to rip open her gifts. I trailed behind them, eyes barely open, not wanting to be awake at such an unholy hour and still bitter about the horrible night I had.

So we dodged a bullet this year and managed to divert their attention away from the shoddy operation that was the Santa Debacle. *Phew* another year where my kids believe in the mysterious magic of Santa (unless they just don’t wanna tell me that they know what’s going on). Next year there may be a few adjustments to the logistical operations. Things like trusting that they’ll go to sleep so I can sneak into their bedroom and risk being exposed. Forget the risky bedroom business (tradition or not). I’m done with that one.  And carrots are now yesterday’s news! Parsnips are the new carrots!

If I were to write a personal ad

Okay so I’m not the type to host Tupperware parties, have dinner on the table at six, and give arduous blowjobs every night for spending cash. And if I disagree with you, I might make you feel like a total fucking idiot, but never on purpose I swear. I will never expect you to pay for everything and will always feel better knowing that I make more money than you or if you’re doing well, that I WILL make more money than you. That way I will never be dependent on you for my sense of self-worth or liveliness… And you can call me your sugar mommy. Just don’t let that be interpreted as a license to be a lazy fuck with a sense of entitlement who contributes nothing. Because you will find your shit on the front lawn burning in a garbage can spray painted with the words “BUH BYE NOW”. I will always turn my head and appreciate pretty 20 something year old men who I deem as delicious eye candy, but don’t worry… They aren’t you and couldn’t handle me anyway. I will probably turn the TV off or change the channel if you are watching sports because it simply does not interest me, and hey – you do what you want on your own time, but sports is not my kind of idea of time well spent together. I am more into talking about IDEAS and wanna hear more than just your opinion on that last goal. If you listen to bad music, I am probably gonna call you out on it and attempt to re-school you in the art of tunage. I like surprises and will surprise you if you surprise me, that’s how it works. If you stop surprising me. I’ll probably stop surprising you, and well… then it’ll just be kinda boring and predictable won’t it?! I don’t like boring. Every day I wanna do something different, learn something new, and be inspired. If you play the guitar or drums, I like that. I will write lyrics and we will sing together and make music… But not bad music… Good music. Music that makes your insides feel like they are going to burst open into the heavens and touch everything around you. I won’t like it if you’re needy, but a little bit of adorable jealousy is okay from time to time. You’re gonna have to be okay with my relentless digital flirtations because it’s all a part of the package and one of the things that makes me who I am, so if you’re not secure enough with yourself better find the door and fast because I will chew you up and spit you out! I like tattoos and body piercings and accessories with pink skulls on them… It would be nice if you had at least one piercing or tattoo, but don’t worry… by the time I get my hands on you you’ll be tatted LARGE and I’ll be lovin’ up on ya! But please don’t tattoo mommy on your arm because that is a huge fucking turn off and I will probably vomit and then punch you. If your mommy is a big part of your life that’s sweet… Just don’t let her come up in conversation too often or you will see the back of my head as I run like the wind… away from you! I will not cram my lovely little toes into ridiculous heels EVER. I like Chuck Taylors and will rock them hard. I am not a Barbie girl and don’t plan on having bunions when I’m older. If you refer to women as “bitches” better get a safe distance away from me before my foot finds its way in between your legs and you start screaming like a little bitch. Women are women… ladies… girls… females…. goddesses…. call us what you will…. But bitches we are not. (Unless we lovingly refer to our own girlfriends that way… then it’s cool… just not for you). If you are a liar we’re not gonna work out… I don’t respect people who can’t tell the truth and will probably see right through every lie you deliver, whether I tell you that or not. If you’re happy living a lie I’m sure there’s some broad out there willing to live it with you… I am NOT her. And last but not least, don’t ever offer to pay half on a date because that is cheesy… Not just cheesy but super cheesy. Like stinky blue cheese. I’ll pay… Or you pay… But we’re not in fucking high school here. Be a man and pay for the date you cheap ass motherfucker!

Dating Down

loserguy2

Our first (and last) date consisted of a monster truck rally, a corn dog, a few beers, and some low brow discussion that could only be matched by a gun-toting red neck living in a trailer with a toilet on his front lawn. We had absolutely NOTHING in common… except that we both had profiles posted on LavaLife. He liked my tits and I liked his headless profile picture. Which… in retrospect, should’ve been a warning sign.

When we spoke on the phone, I thought his total lack of culture and intelligence was just because he was shy. He knew I was into wine, art, fashion and music… So I never quite figured out why he was so insistent on taking me to a monster truck rally. In retrospect… I should’ve noticed the Red flags.

I had been going through a rather severe dry spell and wasn’t really interested in a relationship, so much as I was in getting laid. But when he came to pick me up in his 1985 rusty mustang crankin’ ACDC Thunderstruck… I knew that it was gonna be a bust. I couldn’t back out though, he was there at my door… Well, okay. Not at my door, but parked in my driveway honking his horn. Waiting for me.

Reluctantly, I headed out the door… Popping a few Vicodin’s on my way to his car. He hooted and hollered at me as I approached the car, like I was some sort of show dog. The car door creaked horrifically when I opened it.

“Hi” I said
“Hello to you pretty lady. Looking Goooood.”

I smiled in front of gritting teeth, desperately wanting to get out and say “you know what dude… this just isn’t gonna work for me”.

But I didn’t.

I sat there knowing that I was not going to enjoy my night out with this primate and that our evening was not going to end with an orgasm!

“Do you like ACDC?” he asked as he cranked it up furthering the deafening blows to my eardrums.
“SURE” I shouted “I CAN SEE YOU’RE A FAN.”

He rocked back and forth tapping his steering wheel aggressively as I dug inside my purse to locate some dark disguising sunglasses. It would be the end of me if anyone saw me with this guy. The Vicodin’s were beginning to kick in, which was good. “A little pill cocktail, some booze, and a sense of humour should get me through the night” I thought. My eyes were getting glazed over and I felt like I was in a red neck video game where the goal is to trash the car.

We got to the monster truck rally and took our seats. He looked at me grinning ear to ear “good seats eh”.
“Uh heh… Great” I said sarcastically.
“Are you hungry or anything? I don’t mind picking us up a corn dog” he said
“Wow, aren’t I lucky. I’d love a corn dog. Are you sure you don’t mind picking up the tab?”
“Anything for you pretty lady.”
“How about a pint of Stella then too since you’re up”

I reveled in the ten minutes I had to myself, popped another Vicodin for good measure and checked my cell phone for possible booty calls.

Nothing. This fuck was my only prospect… How horribly depressing.

He came back with two beers and two corn dogs. I watched him in utter disgust as he scarfed down his corn dog while talking, bits of food flying out of the corner of his mouth and stuck between his teeth. I think he sensed my disgust because he said “Oh shit I guess it’s kinda rude to talk with yer mouth open isn’t it.”

I smiled a loopy pill-induced smirk. He droned on about sports, pit bulls, hunting, cars, and sex. I tried to contain my excitement. I sent him to get me a 3rd beer and he dug his hand into his pocket in defeat “Actually, I only have about $5 left on me and I need that for gas”.

I raised an eyebrow and dug in my purse for a $20.
“Here” I said “Keep the change” and then under my breath I said “you filthy animal” as he turned his back.

When he returned with another beer ten minutes later I was talking to a nice guy named Jake who was sitting next to me. He happened to work on the same street as I did. We were laughing about my date, and coming up with hilarious excuses for me to leave.

The primate was angered by this.

“Hey – are you talking to my girl you fuck?”
“Uhhh totally NOT your girl” I interjected
“Listen sweetheart, I’ll handle this”

He puffed up his chest like an animal, raised his chin and said “I’ll be watching you, you dumb shit.” (which I thought was very ironic). Thankfully Jake and I had already exchanged numbers while the primate was getting my beer. I winked at him and he knew not to talk to me until I ditched the cave man.

The only female driver in the show was about to crush 20 cars with her hot pink monster truck. I actually got excited and started hollering. He looked at me and said “what are you cheering for her for? She sucks. You can’t have no Pink fuckin’ monster truck. And anyway… I don’t trust anything that bleeds for 7 days and doesn’t die.”

It was at that point I began laughing hysterically. At me, at him, at the fact that I was even there. It was time to use one of those excuses Jake and I had come up with. “Listen – I’m gonna have to go. I just remembered, I am supposed to attend the opening of my garage door.”

“What? You’re leaving NOW?”

Jake stood up, put his arm around me and said “No dude… WE’RE LEAVING.”

“You’re a whore” he said

“You never had a chance” I shot back “Not even close. You’re worse than a bad case of explosive diarrhea!”

Jake pushed him down into his seat as we walked past and got the hell out of there.

And my night ended with an orgasm after all.

Oops Oops and Oops!

So the Dirty 30 Party is out of the way now and I can relax and not worry about hosting another party until February. We had blow up dolls, sex toys, retro porn books, John Holmes in Boogie Down on our TV, sex themed food, red lights, bras & panties hanging from pictures and lamps… and we did blowjob shots while handcuffed. I even pulled out my turntables and set them up in the kitchen! It was a ton of fun.

I think I did a bad job at cleaning up before my girls got home though. Because this morning one of them picked up an 8″ vibrator and said “Mommy what’s this?” I panicked and stumbled over my words, “It’s a joke… It’s not mine, It’s my friends, It’s. Just GIVE IT TO ME”.

Then, to make matters worse, there were a couple of penis decorations on a side table (basically smiling penis cut outs). They laughed and pointed and said “That’s funny Mommy”. Again I panicked, picked them up and threw them out!! They even spotted a Penis tiara and wanted to wear it. I shouted “NO” and my daughter said “How come you don’t let us see anything Mommy”, and I said “because its rude and not for 4 year olds”! Then I sent them downstairs where I knew it was “safe”.

Thank God I deflated Peter Pecker and Bonita yesterday!!!

Over the weekend I saw one of those Traffic Tickets cars driving around. You know the ones that advertise getting you out of your tickets. The vehicle was decorated like an ad. It said “Impaired driving, speeding, careless driving”, and a couple of other things. It was about 2am or so and in the passenger seat was a CLEARLY drunk man hunched over with his eyes closed. How’s that for irony?!

Then yesterday we were driving somewhere and it was early in the day (maybe 12 or 1). There was a woman in a passenger seat sleeping with her mouth wide open. I pointed at her and laughed and said “a little early for a nap isn’t it?! Well the car changed lanes and went in front of us, and I saw that it was a commercial vehicle for a FUCKING SLEEP THERAPY company! I shit you not. They deal with sleep apnea and other sleep disorders. I don’t know if my radar was just up or what, but there’s good content in there somewhere.

Dirty Thirty… It’s Universal.


So me and Luvaboy are BOTH turning thirty this year and within a couple of weeks of each other, so we decided that we should throw a dirty thirty party. I have been scouring the net for ideas. So far I am thinking; dirty martinis, retro porn, Rockband, a dirty pinata (filled with condoms and sex toys), phallic food and sex themed drinks, and retro tunes.

I need a porn that won’t make people who aren’t sexually liberated feel terribly uncomfortable… Maybe Fritz the Cat or something. Suggestions warmly welcomed.

This video is what Diesel did for their Dirty Thirty party. They held a party in 17 cities around the world and created this re-edited 70’s porn to promote the parties. What a masterpiece.

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My Evil Plan for World Domination

Shhh don’t tell… I have it all mapped out into 3 stages. Here’s a sneak peak for you:

Lingo’s Evil Plan ™!

My objective is simple: World Domination.

My motive is a little bit more complex: Love (Yes, it works)

Stage One
To begin my plan, I must first seduce a rock star. This will cause the world to slaughter a sacred calf to appease the gods, overwhelmed by my arrival. Who is this evil genius? Where did she come from? And why does she look so good in classic black?

Stage Two
Next, I must seize control of the internet. This will all be done from a abandoned church, a mysterious place of unrivaled dark glory. Upon seeing this, the world will gibber like madmen, as countless hordes of ninjas hasten to do my every bidding.

Stage Three

Finally, I must activate my corporate takeover, bringing about an end to sanity. My name shall become synonymous with fuzzy bunnies, and no man will ever again dare interrupt my sentences. Everyone will bow before my cunning intelligence, and the world will have no choice but to fall madly in love with me.

Yes yes… it’s all going to be beautiful. Just don’t FUCK with MY plan!! Go get your own!

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