Canada Day Eve

undiesMy darlings, I have to apologize for being tardy with my posts, however, a lady does have a life to lead at times which takes her away from her keyboard.

One of those things is  tequila, and the other is younger men. Guess which one I’m going for tonight, on the Eve of our nation’s birthday? Oh hell, why choose only one?!

As I’m busy perfuming and grooming, I will give you a quick list of ways to celebrate your day-off-in-the-middle-of-the-week.  But you must start now darlings, as it’s only one day off, with three more working days to follow. Yes, I know, sometimes life just isn’t fair pussy-cats, but we must persevere.



1) If you really are tapped, and have no energy, go for a long, hot soak, a glass of chilled white wine, and an early night in with your favourite chick flick.

2) If you have a little more energy than that, head to your local patio (walk, or take a cab), and down some Canadian Club and soda as you welcome Canada Day.

3) Entertaining in your pink and white’s is always an option, and since you have tomorrow off, it’s ok to be very naughty. Light some fireworks of your own! Put on your favourite playtime playlist, and pour something wonderfully strong and decadent to share with your lover-of-the-hour. Better yet, entertain a luscious piece of man-steak from another country, and introduce him to our fair charms. If your lover does not hail from a foreign land, make him speak with a foreign accent, and have him call you mistress. Just a suggestion.

4) If you have no lover on the horizon, or black book to back you up, bake a red velvet cake, ice it with white frosting, and pig-out in front of your copy of Bridget Jones’ Diary. Yah, it’s ok to take a fabulous break. Just don’t let it bleed into the rest of the week.

5) I also strongly suggest…..


……uh-oh! Gotta run! My foreign-born man-steak is ringing la bell….




I Don’t Mind

We all have that one special person….

I miss you. I can’t think of anything better than to be snuggled in on the couch with a glass of wine, listening to you tell me your stories.”



everything about you

Wednesday Rawwwwr!!!


Alt Ctrl Delete & ReStart Your Self-Worth

deleteMy credentials have been questioned lately. I’m not just talking my CV either folks, I’m talking about my very value as a woman.

Yah, I know, right?!

We all go through it though. When you get promoted, colleagues ask, ‘What does she have that I don’t?’. When we get dumped, we ask the same thing.

But at some point, regardless of our title, or our marital status, we come to realize our own value. That’s when, “BAM!”, we hit Alt Ctrl Delete and reboot our own self-worth.

I was chatting with a younger colleague the other day who asked about my qualifications. I quickly ran through the list, and his response was, “Holy smokes, you’re stacked!”.

“Yah, I guess I am.” I said.

I am? Yes. I, um… Ok, sorta, yah…. I AM!

So when it was time to move on at work, and do some much deserved and desire climbing, I didn’t hesitate to go after what I wanted. It took two years, but it’s been good.

After thinking about my little encounter and impromptu resume quiz at work, and later a very wussy pile of whining from a lame excuse for a man,  I decided my little black book needed a refresher as well.

I’m known as a lover of men. I love every delicious bit of a man when I’m with him.

In the past I’ve hung on too long to men I’ve known were not the one.  Life becomes shorter and even more precious as the clock ticks. I’m proud to say I’ve been able to hit DELETE on my contact list a lot faster, with a much shorter moping-in-my-moo-moo time.  It’s all so much easier now that our black books are digital.




This time, there was no moo-moo-moping-time-at-all.
Whenever he turns out to be definitely-not-the-one, I’m always a bit disappointed. But I’m learning to listen to my intuition the first time, rather than waiting for an all out attack from my what-the-hell-was-I-thinking voice.

In our time of managing contact lists, hitting DELETE is quick and painless. It’s the most effective way to manage a lonely-moment-texting-weakness, and wash that man-wanna-be right out of your hair darlings.

If you’ve got a parasite hanging around who doesn’t make you happy, DELETE him.

My younger self used to say, “They always call.” Meaning; they always call My older, wiser self says, “Who cares?”.  There’s nothing better than not recognizing the number of the wrong man.






Fitting Room Therapist

prettyI hate shopping.

Unless it’s for Christmas decorations, special baking ingredients, or helping my kiddo pick out something he really wants, I’d rather be a zillion other places.

The stop at the shop was a fly-by on my way home from day twenty-something in a row at work.

In the harsh direct lighting of the fitting-room cubicle, I was left alone with my naked self, and worn out panties.

There’s something about being naked with myself that shakes me down.  All of a sudden, I am face to full-length face with a three-quarter, panoramic view of my bare tushie. It makes me sweaty and anxious. Not ideal.

I wear suits to work, and jeans at home. Rarely do I do anything any more that doesn’t involve work, sports-mothering, or getting cozy with my keyboard, and literary obsession.  When it comes to love-making, unless I’m in a relationship, sex-o-the-day seems like a waste of wardrobe. Light candles and answer the door naked is my philosophy.

But I’m getting off-track darlings. Let’s go back to the stale air of the fitting room cubicle. I have to travel next week. For work. It’s a casual environment, but not so casual I can wear my yoga pants and Parrothead t-shirts.

In the harsh light, with one knee high rolled half-way down my calf, and my spare tire glowing in the fluorescent lighting, I let myself admit just how tired out I am.  “I’m dehydrated, tired, and coming down with a cold“. Immediately my internal therapist gave me permission to go home and rest.

Years ago, it would have been a very different internal voice.  years ago, I would have berated myself for not living up to the physical ideal that we know all ‘worthy’ women hold themselves too.

Years ago, I made a quick stop into the mall between work and going home. I had the rare, single-parent luxury of working late  (please don’t miss the irony in that statement). So depressed about my own body image, I made myself stop for a glass of wine.

I was so tired out, the wine made me tipsy, and when I get tipsy, I get happy and giggly. Suddenly all was right with the world, and the shopping mall I was in. I was feeling so good that I meandered into Godiva and treated myself to one of my favourite things in the world; a milk-chocolate covered marshmallow.

I then made my way to A favourite store. When the unsuspecting saleswoman asked if she could help tipsy ol’ me, I took her on a tour of the shop, pointed to everything I liked and instructed her to bring it to me.  All in XL.

I sat my naked body down in the fitting room and savoured every bite of my milk-chocolate covered marshmallow. When the saleswoman timidly asked how madam was doing, I managed a slurred and sticky, “Splendid”, between licking the last of the melted chocolate off my fingers.

I’ve become a whole lot more comfortable in my own skin since then. That drunken evening of not-giving-a-rat’s-petunia in the fitting room was a turning point for me.

If you’re a happy drunk, I highly recommend tipsy-toodles shopping as step one in your quest for fitting-room-freedom. It’s a whole heck of a lot better than berating and hating yourself.

Today I happily  made my purchase (sober), and then drove home with the windows rolled down and the dulcet tones of Willie Nelson blaring full-blast. I’ve come a long way since that day I felt so sad and unworthy that I needed some hooch to get me through the whole fitting-room ordeal.

Who is that blonde-haired, well-turned out woman with the awesome taste in music,” I could hear the man in the jeep next to me thinking as he eye-balled  the Willie-Nelson-mobile while we were stopped at red light.

She’s a woman who’s come a long, long way“, I thought to myself as I stepped on the gas. It was time to go home and rest. This old bod has been good to me, and it’s time to love it back.

The Freedom of Commitment

"Commitment is that turning point in your life when you seize the moment and turn it into an opportunity to alter your destiny." ~Denis Waitley~

“Commitment is that turning point in your life when you seize the moment and turn it into an opportunity to alter your destiny.”
~Denis Waitley~

I wish that I could say that this post was inspired by a deeply intellectual article  that I read.   I also wish I had that damn article, so I could quote it accurately.

But I don’t.  You are stuck with my inadequate muttering. As much as this post was inspired by the article on commitment, it was very much inspired by my carrousel-like love-life.

The article was about turning the idea of ‘commitment’ on its head.

In other words, instead of associating commitment with discipline, patience and exertion, it argued that commitment was the most freeing thing in the world. After all, once you’ve committed to something, you’re committed. There is no more weighing benefits and drawbacks. You don’t have to double-check your black book or worry that lover #1 is calling whilst you are endeavoring to be romantic with lovers #2, 3 or 4.  Once you’re committed, you’re committed.

This was an incredible idea for me, the goddess-of-all-things-commitmentphobe. I can’t even say the ‘C’ word without stuttering and choking a little bit.

This idea was as illuminating as my friend Ms. M’s ever-ready question about men behaving below standard, ” If this is what it’s like in the beginning, what will it look like at the end?”

Wise Ms.  M. Very wise indeed.

Just as wise is my own firm belief that should a man wish to be in your life, he is. It’s as simple as that. It’s easier to shake a hungry dog off a pork chop than an interested man from your life.

Men who want to be with you make extraordinary efforts to be with you. They don’t put it off for a week, or a couple of weeks, or even a day. If they’re hot for you my delicious gal-pals, they will be present. They will be proper and they will be thorough.

There shall be ‘good mornings’, ‘good afternoons’ and ‘sweet dreams’, communications daily.

My looming business trip should be punctuated at both ends by romantic gestures, even if it’s just sending a text to let me know he’s going to miss me and then dropping by as soon as I get home. Enthusiasm gets rewarded with enthusiasm gents.

Or not.

You see, another piece of wise advice that has filtered through the poo-poo this year is, ” You don’t get married on the first date.”

In other words, you don’t have to make a commitment to everything all at once. You can commit in little bits over time.

I believe trust works the same way. Trust is not absolute, it’s elastic. There are levels of trust, and someone proves their trustworthiness over time.

But I’m a woman known for her fire, her passion, her decisiveness in business and life.  I recognize that my greatest strength is also my greatest weakness.

I visualize this just as one would visualize  jumping into a pool.  I leap with the great expectation that I will dive deep, push up from the bottom and burst through the surface to take a delightfully deep breath of fresh air.

Sometimes however, I skitter across the pool deck, stub my toe, spill my drink, and bonk my head on the way down, only to be saved by my incredibly buoyant lady-parts.

So, as you may have guessed, I’m currently in a state of  relationship ‘yo’ (“when your heart says yes and your mind says no, is the magical state of yo” – thank the Smothers Brothers for that one).

Admittedly, I’m a romantic, flighty, soul-mate wanting, twenty-first centuray hippie woman. I have also been betrayed and heartbroken in ways that would unstuff the average bear.  Perhaps some time away is just what the to-commit-or-not-to-commit doctor ordered.

So, I will consider all of the advice I’ve been given, dished, and sought. Commitment is indeed the greatest freedom. Right now, I just don’t know which way it’s going to go.





The Amazing C Strikes Again

"Talking to an old friend makes you realize just how much your life has changed and how much your dreams have remained the same."

“Talking to an old friend makes you realize just how much your life has changed and how much your dreams have remained the same.”

I need a girl talk and The Amazing C can’t talk. Get your vagina out, ” I said as I inched my way through traffic.

If I could do that, I’d be in front of the mirror. Seriously. Can you hold on? I have to get in my hammock and need to switch phones.”

That was my alternate  gal-pal. As you might have guessed he’s sans girly-bits, but one of my very best-of-all-time friends. He’s my surrogate girlfriend and I love him like no other man.

It has been an eternity since The Amazing C and I have had a chance for a long, giggly girl-talk like we used to have. I do have the Delightful D who has earned an honoured place in the fairytale of  Andshelaughsland, and I don’t know what I’d do without her. The Lovely L has been in my life for over 25 years, and I couldn’t be without her either.

Having said that, The Amazing C is the only, I mean ONLY, pal who can appreciate the things that I have to talk about right now. The reason is that she is the only gal-pal who worked in the same, mythologized industry as me, and knows about the unique stress and satisfaction of the calling.

My oldest friends are all busy with their hubbies and children, while I remain, the sole single gal on the scene, doggedly working at her career.

Which, incidentally my darlings, has paid off, as I haven’t been this fulfilled at work since, well, since I was young and naïve.

Despite lack of doting, hunk-a-hunk-a-burning-I-love-you-so-much-I-can’t-possibly-make-enough-love-to-you in my life, I’m still satisfied. More importantly I’m old enough to appreciate that this isn’t happening at the same time as my intense relationship with work.

Despite texting, and trying unsuccessfully to connect via phone (we live 729 km apart), The Amazing C and I can’t seem to get it together. Either I’m working, or….well, working or she’s momming.

So today, when I tried to eek out some girl-time on my way home, she said, “Can’t talk now. At GT Boutique”. I wasn’t surprised, but I was disappointed. Again. The let-down goes both way with us, but we continue to make it work.

“Ok, bye. Luv ya.”

“Luv ya back”….click.

Le -girl-sigh.

BUT….The Amazing C called back because she knew I needed to talk to her and only her.  We talked for less than 10 minutes. I heard about her crisis at work, and she heard about my ‘holy-crapoli’ revelation. When you have such a good friend for such a long time, sometimes that’s all you need.






Weekend Enlightenment

"There are three possible parts to a date, of which at least two must be offered: entertainment, food, and affection. It is customary to begin a series of dates with a great deal of entertainment, a moderate amount of food, and the merest suggestion of affection. As the amount of affection increases, the entertainment can be reduced proportionately. When the affection is the entertainment, we no longer call it dating. Under no circumstances can the food be omitted." ~Miss Manners' Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behaviour~

“There are three possible parts to a date, of which at least two must be offered: entertainment, food, and affection. It is customary to begin a series of dates with a great deal of entertainment, a moderate amount of food, and the merest suggestion of affection. As the amount of affection increases, the entertainment can be reduced proportionately. When the affection is the entertainment, we no longer call it dating. Under no circumstances can the food be omitted.”
~Miss Manners’ Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behaviour~

Things I learned this Weekend;

1) I’d rather drive around in my little compact car that I worked hard to pay for, than have to make love to a wrinkled old pervert who drives a Mazerati. Yes, even if it’s a convertible, and even if he’s a good-looking man for his age.

2) Being the submissive one in a relationship is sometimes deeply satisfying.

3) Forno Cultura remains the single-best bakery in the GTA. I will take my Sunday coffee beside the lake with one of their biscotti with grappa soaked currents. Thank you Forno Cultura for teaching me about taste-bud orgasm.  Miss Manners said it best….

4) Latin jazz can make a cool summer day sizzle, and, I’ve been too long without a holiday. Jazz 91.1 makes it simple on Saturdays…check it out!

5) Really, really great sex is totally worth having to do the laundry.

6) Only other artists can inspire you to lose the anxiety that insecurity smothers us with.

7) Bathing suits for women with large breasts should be designed by structural  engineers and styled by Victoria’s Secret. If you find a combination of the two in a suit, buy it regardless of cost. The best place locally (by far!!!) is Susan’s Lingerie.

8) Consciously honouring your spirit should be done on a regular basis. God bless Wonderworks.  They are having an open house next weekend, and if your spirit, creative self, or worn out shell-of-a-self needs some lovin’, that’s where you’ll get what you need.

9) I still don’t understand men, and I suck at communicating anything remotely romantic. Our heads and hearts often disagree, but we need both of them to lead a rich, fulfilling life.

10) Ode on a Grecian Urn remains my favourite poem, despite having first read it over 20 years ago. It explains our human condition so well. If you want to know more about what I’m speaking of; Why We Can’t Get No Satisfaction