Locker Room Nudity Does Not Belong in Cyberspace

Locker Room Nudity Does Not Belong in Cyberspace

OK, this shit must stop. Selfies are stupid enough, and I know there are entire websites for girls and guys gone wild. They get naked and hope the internet loves them.  I get that our lives are online and the younger you are, the more likely you have an entire portfolio of body parts on Instagram. However, this story  (Global News) is a whole other animal. A team of young Canadian men, boy really, had just won the big hockey prize. The entire country was on their feet freaking out about the big win of their players. The smiling lads completed their victory cruise around the ice with the trophy. Then they went back to their locker room to celebrate, shower and get dressed. There was an unfortunate photo snapped by another member Canada’s list of pride, a gold medal Olympian who was fan boying in the locker room. He posed for a shot with some players and in his excitement he posted the photo on social media and hadn’t seen that it was photo-bummed. The player in the background was nude, and when the mistake was discovered the Olympian took the photo down. But this is social media, it is out there. It is now locked in forever so the team and that boy can’t do a damned thing about it. The public has shared and shared, chuckling a little, creating a tsunami of cyber schadenfreude. People thought it was funny, or cute, or at worst unfortunate. It isn’t cute. That boy didn’t choose to show his ass to the world. He was in a locker room on what was probably the happiest day of his young life. His team had just handed the Russians their asses in a world championship game, and yet somehow this became about his ass. Players spend years on the ice and in locker rooms; it is their place. They expect to be able to shower and change, and they expect not have their photos snapped and watch their backsides dragged through every single social media site on the internet. The legit news sites had the decency to blur out most of the cheeks, but it is making the rounds nevertheless. What it comes down to is not one kid’s bum, it is about no longer having control of what happens to your image and what people say about it. The moment somebody clicks on “post” with an ill advised picture, some troll out there takes a screen shot. Then it’s on. The online world flocks around people who have been made to feel the fool, and it laughs at them. The targets of the pointing fingers may not send them direct cyber bullying messages,...
You Too Will Speak These Words to Your Husband

You Too Will Speak These Words to Your Husband

This is for all the young ladies out there who are in the early phases of “wifehood” or “shackupness” or whatever. You are in that formative stage where you haven’t gotten your “5 year pin” yet. So for all intents and purposes, you know not much, but you have a man. If this sounds like you, read on. Here are things that may sound appalling right now, but I can assure you, at some point will actually come out of your mouth. You might want to write these down and let me know how long it took you to say them all… go ahead, get a pen, I will wait right here. One day you will say most of these things to your man: What on earth is that smell? Did you shit? No, you are not dying, you have a cold. Get your own fucking coffee. Do you even see socks when they aren’t on your feet?  You could try something new here honey, and deal with the child instead of waiting for me? Did you put gas in my car? I thought you were picking her up at soccer? Jesus Christ how long has she been waiting on the sidewalk? Do something about that fur please. Seriously, I bought you a personal weed whacker, use it. After that epic fart and rather repulsive ball scratch, I just don’t know how I am keeping my pants on right now. Ya, I am awake, but hurry up, I am tired. This is your idea of a date night? Yes I am too drunk to drive, and so are my friends, can you come and get us? (giggle giggle burp) No I don’t know where you left your _____ (insert any object here). You put that baby in there, you will stand here like a man and watch it come out and no you cannot have my drugs. Yes of course I would like breakfast in bed made by toddlers who you clearly were not supervising. Stop crying, it is just waxing for crap’s sake, you should see where I get hair pulled out of. You don’t look nearly stressed enough, why are you not worried about this situation with me?? Can you look at this thing on my back? What is that? I have no idea what you should make for dinner. Try this, think of a meal, get the ingredients for it and make it. Do you need a manual? I couldn’t imagine life without you baby. The men in our lives spend a lot of time trying to figure us gals out. They would love it if on the third date we handed them one of those little Lego...
The Geezerwed Years, The True Story of Marriage           

The Geezerwed Years, The True Story of Marriage           

I knew I would regret coming to this damned wedding. I am the Grandmother of the bride. It was nice of them to invite me, but everybody would have understood if I begged off due to my obvious decrepitude. I didn’t want to miss watching her get married for the second time though, and my husband hates to miss a free meal.  I do love her optimistic and slightly delusional white dress. Despite my reservations, she is family, so here we are. If I had known it was going to be this dull, however, I might have stayed home to watch Days of Our Lives. I look around at all the young guests and can’t help but wonder “How did I end up so bloody old and cranky?” Sitting in this spindly chair for over an hour of speeches and toasts is cruel and unusual punishment. My ass is pressing a stress fracture into my underwear because it refuses to stay in the place where the good lord put it. My bum is crawling down my legs, and my dress is as uncomfortable as shit and my bra has dry rice in it. Ah, weddings. Newlyweds are so cute aren’t they? So much taffeta and enthusiasm spilling all over the place. They can hardly contain their glee at living in a unit of two. Everyone tells them what a lovely couple they are. I have advice for them in my head: Enjoy it while it lasts, sweetheart. Ah crap. I’m looking across the table at the Old Fart I married 50 years ago and wonder if he knows he has mashed potato on his chin. I would tell him, but it is so much funnier to watch it gross out the kids. I observe him chatting with a teenager who can’t look away from the food wreckage on the old man’s face. I consider my husband for a moment and realize we have been married so long that we have now hit the Geezerwed years .  We are in the late-in-life period of marriage that nobody celebrates. They are those less glamourous years where you are simply busy being old together. Nobody buys you a new toaster or throws you a party for making it through your first hip operation– or menopause–without killing each other. Oh lord, the best man is finishing his speech on stage. That was a great story about how the groom got wasted last night after consuming a few Cosmopolitans too many. What sort of a man orders a girl drink like that anyway? Do young men come without nuts these days? It got me to thinking about my own wedding.  It has been many...
Motherhood: Do You Make “Me Time” a Priority?

Motherhood: Do You Make “Me Time” a Priority?

  When did it become ok for Mothers to trade in our life force for our families? Is it just me or are women giving too damned much? Somehow it has become the thing to feel that we can’t possibly step away from our kids for so much as a moment because they need us. Well of course they need us girl, they are small relentless creatures that are 97% made of needs. That doesn’t mean you have to hand over your identity card and lie down to let them run over your sorry ass. Even the youngest of toddlers can deal with a little alone time in their cribs or rooms. Older kids don’t really need you that much. However, if you are still tending to them regardless of their eye rolling, you are becoming a hover Mom. Give yourself a wedgie and walk out the door. If you look like crap, and feel a level below your appearance, the chances are pretty good you are being drained of your life force and have become a husk. A husk in dirty sweatpants. Was this your plan when you decided to produce offspring? I doubt it. You can however stop the insanity, you are the Mom, which makes you Queen Shit of Shit Mountain my love. You decide whose needs get met and when. There has been a lot of chatter in the Mom world about parenting like French women. I am not sure what that actually means, but I picture stylish Mothers sitting in the café Des Saints de Cochon, smoking, drinking coffee with the viscosity of mud, and neglecting their children. It may not actually be that way, but it sure sounds like my kind of afternoon. Those mothers would be much happier than some of the young women I see hauling their three kids into Walmart, hating her life. It doesn’t have to be that way though honey. Here are the three most important things a woman needs in order to hang on to her sanity: Somebody (husband, sister wife, Mother, neighbour anybody) who knows you well enough to tell you to shower and takes your children from you so you can scrape the spit-up off your neck. A safe place in the house where you can keep the little ones entertained while you tend to your needs. Try something crazy like brushing your teeth before 11am. It is a concept. Boundaries. There has got to be a “no go” zone for your children and husband where they dare not tread. If your kids insist on being in the bathroom when you pee, start by axing that abomination. If we are weak with our kids and...
Do You Bleed Into a Cup?

Do You Bleed Into a Cup?

As usual, my women friends are dragging grouchy old badger me into modern trends. Even though I am old as dirt and stuck in my ways, I like to think I know how to modernize. For instance I was ok with giving up my keyboard phone for a touch screen (not really but here I am anyway). Then they said I should do yoga in those pants everybody wears to the grocery store. No wait… first it was Zumba, then it was Yoga. I am clearly losing track of the silly things women do to jiggle less in their leggings. I kind of stopped paying attention to any of it when they started neighborhood Mommy and Daughter pole dancing classes. I have been a good sport and done other activities seemingly targeted to women. Candle parties, sex toy evenings, wine club with a book problem, all of it. I drew the line at the “50 Shades of Grey” fangirl club because I consider bad writing to be a crime against humanity, yet there they were: all the girls surreptitiously licking their kindles. Now I must deal with the latest “must have” in woman land. It is about period blood. If that idea freaks you out a little, keep reading, we might be on the same team here. A number, and I mean a statistically significant number, of my friends are avoiding the feminine products aisle and heading straight to the hippy dippy natural store to buy a cup. It is a plastic cup that they wear in their lady cave and it catches the blood. I will just let that sink in a moment. I can tell you, we have been having a full-on chimp style poo fling fest over this. They want me to put my environmentalist money where my mouth is by putting a blood catcher in the hole instead of disposable products. “Come to the dark side,” they said, “we are liberated and unafraid of our bodies,” they declare. Alright, so now rather than using menstrual products that decay over a longer period of time than it takes to break down nuclear waste, we are supposed to use blood catching dishes in our hairy beasts. I don’t know, this is all a little waterbirth and patchouli for me. I asked my progressive friends how they deal with it when the cup overfloweth. Well apparently you use toilet paper and wipe it out. Ok, I could see that being workable. But the next bit came from a seasoned user that didn’t exactly further her argument. She cautioned that when you are cleaning out your slippy cup in a public washroom stall, you need to make sure nobody sees your hand on...