A face full of Botox, Restylane and don’t even get me started on Brazilians…

So, you probably think this is some kind of rant against women who pay a lot of money to get shit injected into their faces and rip all the hair off their pussies. Nope.  Not at all.

I admit it fully… I went to Dr. Miller today feeling like a menopausal, ugly, tired looking crone who was past her prime and probably should just be shot to put herself out of her misery; and left feeling like a new woman…   I don’t know about this growing old gracefully thing, maybe some people can do it, but holy shit it’s not my thing.

I’m definitely a high maintenance woman when it comes to my personal grooming. There is no questions about that.  Hair done every three weeks, nails and pedicure every two weeks, waxing every two or three weeks, and I used to get those awesome eyelash extensions until I developed a horrible allergy to the glue, so regretfully gave them up.  But, I have subsequently discovered there is such a thing as “fibres” you can layer in with your mascara and voila – almost the same effect.

I know I sound like a complete idiot. But, it’s in my DNA to primp and have nice clothes and hot shoes and I just really don’t see that changing, ever.

On the upside, I have drawn the line at any more Brazilians. I have decided that I like my hair and I’m not ripping it out anymore. Who made the rule that a hairless vagina was the only way a woman can look sexy?  I actually don’t get it.  So, I am rebelling and what you see is what you get now.  I’m tired of men, magazines, and porn telling me how my vagina is supposed to look. I’m going to rock a 70’s bush from here on in – it’s way, way sexier : )

I love how this weekend is starting out. And tomorrow, I’m going to shoot shit at the gun range.

My life is good.


Sometimes men are just too stupid for words…

My “pretend boyfriend” from last winter showed up this week. I don’t think I really mentioned him too much – he’s married and I met him in a bar last fall.  I had no idea  that he was married.  That is, until he asked me out, I went ,and then found out he was one of those asshole married men who think it’s okay to stupid shit like that.

I will make a really long story short here. After him fixing a lot of crap in my house, trying to boss me around about how I should run my business, introducing Mata Hari to a complete douche, hanging around my house constantly, crossing the line by making out with me, but when I took my clothes off he panicked and bailed, I told him to fuck off.

And, I have to say, my life has been much better without his little stress puppy, complaining self in it. But, apparently he has missed me and asked me out for dinner tonight.  So, being the curious type, I went.  Oh my God.  I wish I hadn’t.

This guy is wired for sound. He starts off dinner with “I have a call at 7:30, so we have to be finished up by then.  Me “Well, let’s just call it a day and you go do what you have to do and we’ll get together some other time”  Him:  Well, I didn’t want to cancel and upset you”.  Me:  I wouldn’t have really given a shit – go do what you need to do – I really mean that.”

Which, of course, makes him cancel whatever it was that he had to do.   So lame.  I couldn’t stand being around him.  I’ve never spent 1.5 hours with someone so stressed out, and with an agenda he couldn’t articulate but was so transparent I nearly felt sorry for him.

So, I helped him out. I told him I wasn’t interested him, I liked him as a friend, and that unless he could actually behave like a normal person around me, he should never call me again.

It’s possible I hurt his feelings but I don’t care. I am completely sick and tired of stupid men who try and manipulate me and think I’m stupid, and that I should be interested in all of their stupid shit and drama.


That was more fun than a barrel of monkeys…

I’ve finally found a hobby (besides the ridiculous amount of reading material I plow through during any given month) that I am going to absolutely love.

I mentioned in my last blog about joining a gun club. Well, you are looking at a card carrying member of the Scotia Gun Club!  And I bought my first box of rounds (.22).  500 bullets : )  And shot 250 of them on Saturday afternoon.  And now plan to go to that gun range every Saturday for the rest of the winter.

She Shoots!

(Yup, I realize that thumb position is pretty shitty..)

It was completely relaxing. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced a better way of getting my mind to go that zen-like.  I drove out to the range thinking about that stupid man, and after two hours of shooting, I had this huge feeling of well-being and happiness.  I was so relaxed. There was nothing but me, the handgun and the target.  I went through three targets and tried two different handguns plus a revolver.

And this is bragging, but the range officer assigned to help me, and the guy in the spot next to me mentioned that they were a tiny bit impressed with my skill in actually hitting the target and managing to do some grouping. i.e. I aim at the same place every time, and a bunch of bullets actually go to that same place I was aiming.  So, I found that quite gratifying.  Nice to get a compliment that has nothing to do with how you look.

One of my targets

One of my targets

So, I’ve signed up for a beginner handgun course in November. With the eventual goal of being good enough to shoot in competitions at some point.  I’m also going to buy a handgun once I figure out what kind I want – the good thing about this place is you can rent them, shoot them, with no commitment to buy them.  I’m going for the 9mm Glock next Saturday, and might even get some practise with a long-gun considering it is hunting season, and that time of year where I walk around the woods with my favourite boys with a gun, but never manage to actually shoot anything but trees.

I’m a happy camper that I found something this fun to do : )

Chippy Fifty Something Chick is still unattached and clueless…

So, I just read the profile thingy on wordpress that I came up with two or so years ago (I am actually clueless with how this whole blog thing is supposed to work and how you are supposed to make money doing this, because I’m pretty sure people must be making cash writing their crap, but I know I’m not. Most likely because I’m the only one who thinks I’m interesting and I ramble way too much and too many stupid men are involved). Anyway, this is what it says: “Despite my best intentions, I find myself unemployed, unattached and completely clueless about how the rest of my life is supposed to unfold”.

I guess I can say I took a step forward since I started the blog in that I was able to make it work being self- employed and can pay the bills and the mortgage.. But the rest of it’s pretty much the same. I suppose 33.33% progress is better than nothing.

Upon reflection, I think there’s nothing I can do about the unattached. I’ve reached the age where I’m far, far too chippy and unforgiving of male flaws to actually be able to stand having a relationship anymore. Booty calls for sure, actual grown up relationship, I’m not seeing it.  So really, I’m only going to be able to advance another 33.33%.

So, in the interests of personal growth, I have joined a gun club and I’m going to shoot shit all winter. Something about a semi-automatic handgun on a gun range does it for me. (And no, I am not doing this to meet men).

And as step two of my personal growth, I want to go on a trip between Christmas and New Years and do something different. Not my usual sit by a pool, drink all day and meet hot men type of vacation. (Did I just write that – it actually sounds like a fun way to spend a week – I’m not sure what I mean by this).

Warning – don’t ever google “50 plus adventure travel” unless you want to feel old. Happy grey haired couples, sites with names like “eldertreks” blah, blah, blah. Since when does being 50 something put you in the category of “senior”? God, I really just want to kill myself now – I still think I’m hot, but maybe all 50+ women think they are and I’m just being delusional and should probably be going to “eldertreks” to plan my vacation..

Anyway, I thought about how much I loved Crystal Crescent Beach this summer, and all the cool people I met there, and I’ve decided I‘m going to investigate naked vacations. So perhaps my usual sit by the pool, drink, and meet hot men type of vacation will be just that much more fun if everyone is naked. And I definitely won’t be going anywhere where “elder” “senior” or “blue” feature heavily in the advertising.

I do fully realize that gun shooting and naked vacations are not most people’s idea of personal growth, nor does it make me any less clueless than I was two years ago.

Somehow, though, I think it will be fun.

Stabbing myself in the eye with a fork would have been more fun than this…

Well, now I know why Mr. Hot is single and his last girlfriend dumped him. His true colours came out on Wednesday night and as a result I have deleted him from my life. Forever. I will never again speak of him or acknowledge his existence after this blog post.

I think the following text transcript is somewhat helpful in explaining why I am so pissed:

Me: I nearly bought allsorts tonight so I could eat all of the coconut ones. But went and got my nails done instead. It was a good day – XXX thinks I would be a great go-to finance person for the local companies they invest in : )

Mr. Hot: Hey, you are on a roll. I would have little doubt. Good for you. And good call on the nails.

Me: I’m pretty happy that I’m still somewhat employable. And that I didn’t send 4000 calories straight to my ass.

Mr. Hot: Ahh, employable, smart and adorable ass. A little less sweet with the candy loss 🙂

Me: You say the nicest things handsome : )

Mr. Hot: You are welcome. Just sayin…

Me: Besides being the hottest man I’ve met in recent memory, you are completely charming.

Mr. Hot: And a dirty mind : )

Me: One of your very compelling qualities..

Mr. Hot: Yours works a bit on the edge too…

Me: You are one sexy man Mr. Hot.

Mr. Hot: I’m hard… And thanks…

Me: Oh I am completely unable to be anywhere near you without being wet.

Mr. Hot: Come over if you would like?

Me: Half hour or so?

Mr. Hot: Sure, door is open.

(I don’t normally ever go to a man’s house but I have two roommates living with me now who were home, so him coming to my place was not an option). Anyway, it was pretty amazing. Very intense hour or so. Between his dirty mind and his big penis, I had a shit load of fun.

And then, it happened… HE KICKED ME OUT OF HIS HOUSE!! Five or ten minutes after he had his orgasm. I am not making this up. He actually said to me “let’s get you dressed”.

I was in a complete state of shock. I have never had anything this gross ever happen to me post-sex. I was speechless (a rare thing for me). So, I got dressed, he tried to hug and kiss me, perhaps realizing that he had just been a complete asshole to me, but who knows. Maybe he is just that big of a douche, I don’t know. I left and he’s lucky I didn’t spit in his face, which is what I felt like doing.

So, I get home and start thinking about this, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.. Not my usual thing, but I like the guy and he’s been great so far, so WTF was this all about?? Trying to be a grown-up, I wanted to let him know how completely shitty that made me feel. God, I don’t recognize myself writing that. I should have told him to fuck off and let that be the end of it. But no, I open myself up for the fucking weirdest text exchange ever:

Me: I really like you and having sex with you is amazing. But that post sex get away from me asap thing is something I’ve never experienced before except with you and it makes me feel shitty. So not sure what is up with that except that you think I’m only booty call material. Which I get but not what I want.

Mr. Not so Hot (the next afternoon): You are a friend  who I am physically attracted to and you have arrived in my life at a time when I’m not interested in a relationship. I need to spend time with my kids, work through the loss of my mother. A relationship is not on my radar. I enjoy your company and I apologize if I have crossed the line with our physical activity. Let’s sit down with a coffee and discuss.

(Oh, and wait, this is the icing on the cake)

Mr. Not so Hot: …and last evening I took a pill to help with our enjoyment of the evening and at 11:00 the side effects were full on. (dizzy, headache).   Again I apologize. We will manage our friendship with greater clarity…if it is not too late.

Holy fucking just kill me now. If it’s not too late???? I clearly tell him my feelings were hurt and he comes back to me with something that implies I’m at fault. WHO WRITES THIS KIND OF SHIT???? I showed Mata Hari the text. I was upset. How could I have liked someone, hung out with them for two months and completely misjudged them? In the way that only Mata Hari can do, she looked at me and said: “He doesn’t go down on you. There’s something wrong with him. That plus the fact he tried to blame you for wanting a relationship, and telling you that you must have misunderstood things.” I love her so much

I deleted him from my contacts, deleted his texts and dropped off a typed letter, unsigned, in his mailbox this morning:

“If someone thought I was as big of a douche as I think you are right now, I would want them to tell me.

I left your house on Wednesday night feeling like a low-rent hooker that you couldn’t get out of your bed fast enough. The only thing missing was you tossing me some money. It’s a real first for me – congratulations on being the only man I’ve ever fucked who made me feel like a whore. It was beyond demeaning and something I won’t forget anytime soon.

I have all the clarity I need regarding our friendship. Friends don’t make friends feel shitty.

I think I left a purple wrap at your house. If it’s there, please leave it at security at the next time you’re at the office. “

I really shouldn’t have to deal with this shit at my age.  And KMS, you see what happens when you leave the country – shit goes down baby!

Lying in a Puddle of Puke and Parkinson’s Disease (these two things are not related…)

My, oh my, it’s been an interesting few weeks.

Let me start with the wine show. One of the most fun events I go to all year. You pay $50.00 and then you get to drink as much wine as you can in three hours. Yes, you do have to be sensible about this. No, the person I was with was not.

Picture a 5’7”, skinny, 21 year old Chinese student from Beijing. Her first time out of China. She is renting a room from me (yes, in the interests of being able to waste money on expensive wine, shoes and handbags, I have two roommates this fall). One is awesome, I would keep her forever if I could, the Chinese one, not so much. She has a complete inability to clean up after herself, follow instructions on how to sort the garbage or load the dishwasher, and can’t seem to lock the door when she leaves the house, so has until November 1st to find another place to live, but I digress here.

KMS and I go to the wine show. Being nice, I invite Chinese student along. She seems like she is having a complete blast all afternoon. We take numerous selfies, laugh a lot, I see a bunch of people I haven’t seen for years, and it’s an all-round awesome afternoon. To top it off, KMS got a total buzz on, which was hilarious and only the second time in the 20 years I’ve known her that I’ve seen that happen – usually that’s my domain. Quit pissing on my territory KMS!!

Anyway, it was time to leave and a shit ton of wine was drunk by this point. Chinese student disappears to the bathroom. I’m waiting outside, talking to people and finally realize that it’s been quite some time since I’ve seen her. I try to get into the washroom, officious security guards tell me it’s closed due to an “incident”. Alarm bells in my mind. All I can think is just KILL ME NOW WHAT DID SHE DO???

I say in my most polite, non-buzzed voice “umm, my friend went in there and never came out – a tall skinny Asian girl?” They told me that I better go on in. And there she is – passed out cold on the floor of the public bathroom in a pile of puke. The ambulance showed up. The police talked to me. The liquor inspector talked to me. I’m like – “WTF??? I’m just the landlady!!”

To make a very long story short, I hung out in an ambulance, cooled my heels in emergency for 5 hours and got this chick back to my place in a taxi. Not how I planned to spend my night. Poor girl. I have done spectacularly stupid things in my life as well, and I just pretend they never happened, and just let her do the same. I am hoping that in the karma universe, this will negate any shitty things I may have done recently.

So, later that week, I travel to visit my parents. My father is quite ill with Parkinson’s Disease. And what a shitty, fucking disease that is.   I have watched a vibrant, funny, opinionated, larger than life man become reduced to basically being unable to speak the way he wants to, needs help to shower and eat, mobile only with a walker and at risk of being put in care at any time. It breaks my heart.

I am a female version of my father. We didn’t really get along when I was young, but that’s because we were pretty much the same person. I understand that now. And all I can think when I look at him is “please, if there is any kind of God or whatever, please, please make sure I put a bullet in my brain before I am like this”. Which I suppose is pretty insulting to my Dad when I think about it. I am assuming that his life sucks as much as it looks like it sucks, but maybe he finds joy in the small things like his grand-daughter or spending time with my mother. But, I doubt it.

It was a hard visit and upset me a lot. I’m not a person who cries a lot, but seeing my mother trying to cope with this and her struggles with taking care of a man who is supposed to be her lover, and then seeing how my father struggles to get through a day – it just about did me in. Here are two good people who saved their entire lives for a good retirement, sacrificed many short term pleasures so they could do the long game, and now this is their life.


Naked Beach, Dangerous Women and Orgasms…

I discovered the naked beach this summer. I have to say, I LOVE the naked beach. Sun, salt water, beer, naked men…. It’s like heaven, but in Nova Scotia. Not to mention the ratio of men to women is awesome and ALL of the men are naked. And no, not all of them are gay. I told KMS that next year I’ll be bringing naked beach business cards with my contact info – I totally missed out on following up with two very handsome, hot naked men that I talked to because – get this – I felt too shy!!! WTF?????  I wasn’t sure on naked beach protocol where hitting on men was concerned so I completely missed the boat on that one. So unlike me – I am not really a person who gives a shit about protocol, but I guess being naked does that to you. Next year, I’m just going to drop my card on the object of my attentions’ naked body and hope for the best.

I love this photo:


A very, very nice man I met this summer (back story – I met him at a good friend’s birthday party out in the country, and we stayed up drinking wine and talking about everything imaginable and watched the sun rise) was in town this weekend and he bought me a book of photos called “Snapshots of Dangerous Women”. I mean, what an amazing gift – that’s one hell of a guy who can actually come up with a gift like that. The inscription from him: “To the hottest and most dangerous woman I know. Luv, XXX”. And when I unwrapped the gift and was looking through it, I stopped at this photo and remarked on how this was completely me and something I would do! And he said to me “I was flipping through the book and looked at this photo and thought this is absolutely you, so I bought it for you”.   It beats the shit out of a bouquet of flowers.

We were lazing about in my hammock and he told me he had a dream about me. In the dream I was standing on a dais, not smiling, not frowning, just watchful. I was waiting for a date. Two men walk into the room, and walk towards me and then walk past me. He has an epiphany and realized that HE is my date.  Then he approaches me. I lean down and whisper in his ear “We have so much to share”.

He is married so I am putting this all down to a mid-life crisis thing rather than me being his soul-mate, which is what he wants to believe.  The only possible outcome of this is bad.  Mostly for him.

I am still dating single, Mr. Hot. (This is the aggressive vagina man). And holy shit this man is as hot as they come. The more I get to know him, the hotter he becomes to me.  He has everything that a woman would like in a man. Classy, well mannered, interesting, funny, good cook, hot body, fit, big penis, attentive lover. I mean, why he is single is beyond me. We had brunch on Sunday morning, and then he texted me in the afternoon to see if I wanted to come over for dinner (his daughter bailed on him, no I did not find it insulting to get a last minute invitation from a man whose daughter bailed on him – I like to think I was first on his list of people to text as a replacement).

So dinner was amazing. I was having a hard time eating. We were sitting side by side and all I could think was “All I want to do is get naked with you and give you a blowjob”. Being a very sexual person, I know what it’s like to find someone hot and want them. But this was completely different – total overdrive.  This man can kiss…  He has touching a face down to a fine art. He completely understands the subtleties of foreplay.  I had two of the most mind blowing orgasms ever. Yes, I realize this sounds like a load of hyperbole, but it’s not. I can’t stop thinking about them. On the downside, it does seem that my “aggressive vagina” (which he now calls the “tightest vagina he’s ever been in”) is somewhat of a problem for a man with such a big penis who can’t just slip in there without some work. Is this Viagra related, or big dick related or what?? Is it really possible that your penis is that big that it can’t fit in a normal vagina without difficulty???

I love having first world problems like this.