Assmonkeys wanted

It's May, and do you know what that means?? That this month is devoted to swearing, inappropriateness and a blog challenge where being an assmonkey is not only encouraged, it's expected...in other words, the PERFECT challenge for a foul-mouthed asshole such as myself. Please join in the fun and prepare to gratuitously curse your fucking face off for an entire month, with no repercussions and heaps of admiration from your fellow pottymouths for your ability to weave a colourful tapestry of swearing so lyrical your ears are in danger of exploding in inappropriate joy. Visit The ABC's Of Swearing Challenge for details, links to participating blogs and to sign up!

And because I am all about blogging for educational purposes (totally lying, fyi), I will be providing an inappropriate word or phrase for all my blog posts in May, courtesy of Urban Dictionary, which is chock-full of super-fucked words and slang. You're welcome. Today's phrase is:

Alligator Fuckhouse: A daring sexual maneuver: Mid-coitus, one person bites the neck of the other, locks their arms and legs down and goes into a deathroll, all while maintaining insertion. Like downshifting a car!

Anyfuckingway, I'm starting off this challenge by accepting an award I received twice in the last couple days, from The Insomniac's Dream  and Julie You Jest ...I am honoured and thank both of you for considering me an inspiration of any kind :)

So pretty!!!

Now for the rules:

1. Display the award on you blog. .

2. Link back to the person who gave you the award.  

3. State 7 things about yourself. 

4. Nominate 15 other bloggers for this award and link back to them. 

 

7 things about me that you may not have known and may not want to know, but fuck it, I'm telling you anyway:

 

1) I broke my nose when I was a kid by throwing a golf ball as hard as I could on the road to see how high it would bounce. My face got in the way, unfortunately

 

2) I also knocked myself unconscious by running headfirst into metal monkeybars about a month after I broke my nose

3) I never did grow out of managing to find stupid ways to injure myself. On the plus side I have some pretty cool scars, the origins of which are somewhat embarrassing to explain

4) Technology hates me and the feeling is mutual. Electronics in particular. Which is ironic because I'm addicted to my iphone and laptop...I just suck at being able to use them

5) I went bungy-jumping at my best friend's batcholerette party. Swan-diving headfirst off a very high bridge over a river is the scariest fucking thing I've ever done in my life. And I'd totally do it again, beacause it was such a rush

6) I've accidentally mooned neighbours twice because of the same pair of stupid sweatpants that were too big and would suddenly fall down around my ankles with no warning. You'd think I would have gotten rid of the sweatpants after the first time that happened. You would be wrong. Because I'm that much of an idiot

7) My petname and former blog alias for my( former-but-we're-in-the-midst-of-reconciling-because-he-finally-got-his-shit-together-it's-a-long-fucking-story) boyfriend was Asshole. No I'm not kidding and he loved it when I called him that. And trust me, it suited him at the time

Now for the bloggers who inspire me...you guys all fucking rock and make this blogging community such a fun place to be :)

Kelly at Dysfunctionally Functional

Bad Word Mama!

Cloudy, With A Chance Of Wine

Don't Call Me Marge

Elise Fallson

Gaijin Cracker

Jeneral Insanity

Mod Mom Beyond IndiDom

Mountains Wanted, Mountains Climbed

My Half Assed Life 

one classy motha 

Something Clever 2.0 

The Adventures of Nagzilla 

The Incoherent Ramblings Of A Moose 

Valerie Nunez and the Flying Platypi 

 

 

 

Hug your hairstylist today. DO IT!!

It's Hairstylist Appreciation Day, which I had no idea was an actual thing, but since it is, I'm going to devote this post to all the hardworking, kick-ass, creative hair artists I've had the pleasure and honour of working with in my 22 years in the industry.

I think a lot of people don't understand what a complicated job we have. Hairstylists don't just play with hair all day...we're chemists, architects, psychiatrists, artists and teachers all rolled into one. Our job is to not only send our clients out the door looking fabulous, but making them feel happy and confidant about themselves too. We build self esteem. We listen. We counsel. We may have our own personal difficulties, but we leave them at the door, put a smile on our face and understand that the person sitting in our chair deserves all our focus and good energy, and we work our asses off to give them the best salon experience possible.

Yep, let me grab my magic wand and I'll get right on that

I'm lucky enough not only to work as a stylist in a salon, but I also have a second job teaching at a cosmetology school. And I say lucky because at the salon, I work with the most kick-ass team of people in a ridiculously fun atmosphere, and at the school I'm surrounded by students who have such huge enthusiasm for the trade they are learning, that I look forward to going to work everyday and spending time with such an amazing group of creative people.

Ok, it's not all rainbows and fucking unicorns...the days can be long, the job is physically hard on your whole body, some of the clients are pretty demanding and a few are a downright pain in the ass. But the long hours, the aches and pains and the occasional client that pisses you off so much that you fantasize about stabbing them in the ear with your scissors are all made worth it because of those clients that are so thrilled with the job you did, they squeal with pleasure, hug you and almost cry because they're so damn happy with their new 'do. And that is a huge reward, making people feel fantastic about themselves.

So to all my fellow stylists, today is your day...may your scissors ever stay sharp, your clients show up on time and you never realize you're out of the colour you really need 2 minutes before the client walks in the door :)

Waxing, Xmas, Yarn and Zucchini: The grand finale

I was too busy this week to finish the rest of my posts in a timely fashion, so today you get 4 things I hate for the price of one...enjoy!

Waxing: Voluntarily ripping your body hair out makes me question female sanity. Yes, it's nice to not have a unibrow or leg hair that you could braid, but why the fuck does the process have to be so painful?? I had a bikini wax once...there was screaming and an escape attempt that was thwarted by my esthetician friend who literally wrestled me back on the bed, pinning me down and ignored my insistence that I did not care if I walked around with one side of my bikini line unwaxed on my vacation, because I don't know anyone in Mexico anyway and if anyone asked I'd tell them I was rocking the newest trend in asymmetrical pube fashion. She waxed the other side against my will, so while it was nice not to not worry about scaring my fellow vacationers with an entire winter's worth of bikini line pube jungle, I'm sticking to a razor thankyouverymuch.

Xmas: Two things I hate about the holiday season...the rampant commercialism and consumer guilt. It's bad enough that stores start pulling out their Xmas shit by Labour Day, but companies who try to guilt me into buying Spielberg  thousands of dollars worth of crap he doesn't need annoys the fuck out of me. I don't need some marketing company suit-dummy who gets paid an obscene amount of money to shame parents into believing if they don't buy their kid the latest gadget or toy the fucking world will come to an end because you're a uncaring mom who is depriving their precious child of something vital to their well-being. Like the latest iphone that costs $700. Fuck you suit-dummies...shove your shame so far up your corporate ass that it never sees the light of day again.

Also, Xmas music is the bane of my existence for the entire month of December, but that's something I rant about annually already, so we can skip it for today.

Yarn: I don't hate yarn itself as much as I hate the shit some people make out of yarn

Happy Birthday, I knitted you some dog shit. Seriously, there's a knitting pattern for shit??? WHY???

I don't even have words for this

Put down the knitting needles and step away from the yarn. Enough said.

Zucchini: This is my most despised and hated vegetable. I hate the taste, smell, texture and I truly believe zucchini was invented as some kind of sick, cosmic joke. My mother loves zucchini which turned dinnertime into a vegetable war zone when I was a kid because she insisted on serving it, I'd insist there was no way I was eating it unless it was forcibly jammed down my throat thus rendering dinner into some kind of zucchini stand-off. My mom got far more wily about the zucchini presentation and started sneaking it into casseroles, hoping I wouldn't notice. I noticed and got extremely adept at spotting a tiny piece of that vegetable evil and would not eat until I was sure I had picked every single piece out. Then my mother got even more shady and started pureeing zucchini and sneaking it into shit like strawberry jam and chocolate cake. It got to the point I had to examine all foodstuff for tiny, telltale green flecks. Needless to say my own kitchen is now and will forever be a zucchini-free zone and my kid has never eaten that crap. Unless my mother has continued her shenanigans and snuck it into his dinner and I would NOT put that past her

Collectively, waxing, Xmas, yarn and zucchini earn 5 flaming middle fingers on the Hate-O-Meter because individually they all suck, but together they form a team of horror so heinous there are not enough middle fingers in the world to express my dismay

Vajazzling: Are sparkly vaginas really necessary?

I really don't understand the whole vajazzling trend. Sure, I like sparkly shit as much as the next female, but not enough to want to glue rhinestones to my hoo-ha. And while I understand wanting to surprise your man, I'm pretty sure men really don't care if your downstairs looks like a disco ball...any straight guy I've ever met will love your vagina with or without accessories. Because it's VAGINA.

Ok fine, so it looks kinda cool, but these sort of things make me think about the worst case scenario...all the things that could go wrong. Like what if you have an allergic reaction to the glue? The last thing I'd want to do is have to explain to an ER doctor why your vagina looks like a pornographic balloon and won't fit in your pants. And you can bet your ass that story would make the rounds in the nurses lounge...you would forever be known as the dumbass with the elephant vagina in local medical circles.

And what if the esthetician who vajazzled you didn't speak english or was hard of hearing or dyslexic and your significant other named Tyler wanted to know just who the fuck is Taylor and why is some other man's name is displayed on your nether regions?

Ok I have to admit this one cracks me up

And then you just know if vajazzling is a thing, it's going to lead to the inevitable

Penazzling: Aka "You are not coming near me with a disco dick"

Vajazzling gets 2 flaming middle fingers on the Hate-O-Meter because no one wants an elephant vagina, even if it's shiny. Except maybe other elephants.

Underwear: Unless you're pulling a rabbit out of there, it ain't magical

I struggle at times with the concept of feminism. As a female, I'm all for equal rights, equal opportunities and I don't think gender should determine your worth as a human being or cause you to be excluded from something. I'm certainly not militant about it though...I like having the occasional door opened for me and I think it would be nice to have someone take care of me once in a while, since, like a lot of women, I have a tendency to want to take care of everyone around me and forget sometimes to take care of myself. Also, when it comes to my car I become a clueless dipshit who wishes she had a man to deal with everything vehicle-related...the Car Fairy has been slacking off and not magically fixing my ailing car in the middle of the night and I demand that bitch get fired. Either that or the Boyfriend Fairy needs to bring me a mechanic who will deal with all the pesky details I tend to ignore. Like tire pressure, the broken oil dipstick and the muffler that's dragging but won't quite fall off yet, no matter how hard I try to rip it off once and for all every time I go over a speedbump.

Anyfuckingway, my point about feminism is this: Thongs and g-strings were obviously created by a man who not only wanted to further sexualize women,but also play a practical joke making them walk around all day with a permanent wedgie. If we wanted to floss our ass cracks, we'd shove a wad of toilet paper up there and be done with it. And don't even get me started on women who walk around with their thong/g-string hanging out of the top of their low-cut pants....that's not sexy, it's a wardrobe malfunction.

Then there's the Scared Garment aka magical Mormon underwear. Mormons wear the underwear because "garments are a special piece of clothing worn as a symbolic gesture of the promises that they have made to God" (this is according to MormonUnderwear.com. Because apparently there needs to be a website devoted to information regarding Mormon underwear). The "magical" claims are a little sketchy...supposedly the garment will protect the wearer from bullets, fire, car crashes, disease and zombies (I may have made that last one up...but you'd think it SHOULD be able to repel zombies if it repels bullets and the plague. Just sayin'). According to Mormon lore the only reason Joseph Smith died from a hail of bullets was because he wasn't wearing his magic underwear. I question why a man who claimed a direct link with God would forget to wear his underwear on that day, of all days...you'd think God would have given him a heads up, like "Dude, don't forget to wear the underwear today...just trust me, you'll need it"

It's shocking to me that Mormons have so many kids, because this underwear looks like it's own form of birth control

Underwear receives 4 flaming middle fingers on the Hate-O-Meter. However when the zombie apocalypse happens and it turns out magical underwear actually does save humanity, then I take it all back

Tourist traffic: Old men in hats should be against the law

Spring's arrival in the Comox Valley is signaled by several things. The chorus of chirping birds, the cherry trees blossoming into a riot of pink, plants that lay dormant all winter poking their tender green shoots out of the soils, the snow level on the mountains slowly receding. Perhaps the biggest sign that spring has arrived is also the one that makes all Valleyites grind their teeth into dust: the influx of tourist traffic.

I live in one of the most gorgeous places on the planet. The problem is, lots of people who don't live here also know the awesomeness of this place. And every spring the tourists invade, bringing with them their hard-earned tourist dollars to contribute to the local economy (good) and their vehicles which you can always tell belongs to a tourist because if the out of province license plate wasn't a dead giveaway, the large RV being driven erratically 20 kms under the speed limit by someone who has obviously never driven an RV before in their life is pretty telling (bad. And highly fucking annoying).

I have narrowed down the type of tourists we normally see around here and their driving habits into 3 types:

1)Retirees: most often driving gigantic RV's and towing their Lincon Town car behind it. ALWAYS driving way slower than the speed limit and ignores the increasing line of irate vehicles behind him. Beware old men wearing hats...they're the worst. Not only do they go extra-slow but they put their turn signal on the moment they leave the driveway, so you can be waiting for them to turn for 50 kms before they ever do so.

2) Families: easy to spot because their minivans are overflowing with kid-detritus and smell of spilled juiceboxes and parental despair (as in "why the fuck did I ever think traveling for 2 weeks with 3 kids under 10 was a good idea?? If I have to listen to one more kid yelling punchbuggy and belt his sister so hard in the leg she screams and tries to put him in a headlock and shove crayon up his nose in retaliation, I will lose what's left of my mind". Families can usually be seen pulling u-turns in the middle of the highway, due to the universal law that kids will start clamouring for a bathroom 2 seconds after you pass a rest stop or gas station

3) Hippies: here for the laid-back vibe, the relaxed possession laws and the pot. Usually driving old VW vans that have been hotboxed so many times, you can get a contact high just from driving in their wake. Hippies are easy to spot...just look for the vehicle that slowly drifts onto the shoulder of the road every once in a while and drives exactly 2 kms under the speed limit so they don't get pulled over and risk getting their stash confiscated

Tourist traffic earns 3 flaming middle fingers on the Hate-O-Meter because it's mostly a seasonal thing. Old men in hats however, get 5

Stage Moms: Extreme parenting run amok

Have you ever watched that show "Dance Moms"? It's a reality show that's set in a dance studio and focuses on a group of dance students, their moms and their teacher Abby Lee Miller. The girls are absolutely amazing and talented little dancers, but most of the show focuses on their moms, who are some of the most cutthroat, snarky and bitchy women on the planet, and Abby, who the moms can't seem to stand most of the time, especially when one of their precious darlings is passed over for a solo that week. Abby herself is quite the drill sergeant and has no problem verbally napalming anyone stupid enough to invoke her wrath, which makes her highly entertaining as far as I'm concerned. But the moms personify the term stage mom and take it to an entirely new level.

First off I have issues with any parent who tries to push their own dream of being a professional dancer on Broadway onto their kid. Yes, your kid may be hugely talented and claim to want to go to dance class 6 days a week for several hours a day, ensuring they have no life outside of dance, but I'm pretty sure if mommy hadn't been shoving dance down her kid's throat from birth, the kid might actually insist on going to the mall with her friends on a Saturday instead of attending her millionth competition. 

Fracture your foot? No sweetie, let's not listen to the doctor who told you to stay off it for 6 weeks...if you reeeeaaaalllly want to dance after 3 weeks and risk further injury, you can because no one likes a quitter! Now stop crying from the pain, put some ice on it and buck up, little soldier...get out there and win that big trophy. Because in the immortal words of Ricky Bobby, if you ain't first, you're last.

Holy shit, really? I'm all for encouraging your kid to follow their dreams, but not to the detriment of their health and well-being. Kids need time to behave like kids. Stage moms seem to operate under the delusion that their 6 year old wants nothing more than to dress up like a baby prostitute and strut around a stage wearing more makeup and hairspray than I've worn in my whole adult life put together. Any pageant/dance mom I've ever seen says the same fucking thing "Oh, little Sophie LOVES it and it's all her idea to spend every waking moment of her life in rehersals and competitions instead of playing with barbies or riding her bike". 

Yes, because your 6 year old is clearly capable of running her own life.

Get a grip, you dipshit...you're the adult and you're the person in charge of decisions, not your kid. Not only are you pathetic because you're so busy trying to live vicariously through your child that you have absolutely no life of your own, but this whole thing has potential to blow up in your face if your kid comes to a point where they simply lose interest and refuse to dance or wear a tiara or whatever the hell it is you desperately want them to do.

Encourage the hell out of your kid, yes. Cross the line into being one of those"Dance Moms" moms? No

Stage moms earn 5 flaming middle fingers on the Hate-O-Meter. No standing ovation for those assholes.