There’s no Wine in Patience… or is there?

When it came to writing this week’s blog post, my brain was giving me the silent treatment. Generally, my ideas on what to write about stem from the asshole things my kids (or husband) have done, or from fake news I see on my social media feeds… both usually recipes for some good laughs.

Only this week, some serendipitous shit happened at my house. Normally, on any given day that ends in ‘y’, my house is like a game of War-Craft.  Only this week, my Beasts were actually quite civilized. Like, there were no patches of hair missing from any given scalp. No one took a direct shit on the floor and walked through it. No one poured maple syrup over their head. No one shoved cat food down our vents. It was a good week. So yes, what I’m saying is that I secretly hope my kids give me just a wee snippet of their true asshole colours, because otherwise I don’t have a blog to piss on.

As for social media, with the recent events brought on by that 70 year old DicToddler, social media has now become a platform for the world to voice their political fears. Fine. But because I try to steer clear of politics on this blog, social media has given me no lemons from which to make proverbial lemonade.

Until finally, what should appear in my inbox?! An article about *cough * “How to be more patient with your kids”.  No really… I couldn’t even make this shit up if I tried! Et Voilà, a blog post was born.


So here are the tips on how to be more patient with your kids. And, of course, my deep thoughts on them.

Treat your kids like house guests

Would you yell at your guest to put their shoes away? By treating your kids like house guests, this will keep the peace and everyone will be more likely to get along.

OK.  So here’s the thing… if my house guests behaved anything like my children, I’d throw their asses out at “Hello”. That said, I expect very little when it comes to house guests. Because, like us, they tend to be grief-stricken parents in need of a lobotomy. I must say though, I am quite the hostess with the mostess when it comes to entertaining. Upon arrival, I graciously offer our house guests an iWarned U Package. Inside, our house guests will find a Hazmat suit to protect against the toxicity of my house, plastic grocery bags to wear over their feet as booties, cotton balls to shove up their nostrils to mask the smell, earplugs, 2 Valium and an unlimited supply of wine to render them into a much-needed coma.

Get enough rest

“If you aren’t getting enough sleep, you will be crabby.  Try getting 7 hours of sleep tonight and see what a difference it makes.  (Maybe even aim for 8 hours!)”

In theory, this sounds like sage advice… only in practice it’s fluffy BS.  Because sleep and children are about as compatible as wine and decision-making. I’m three kids deep, and still haven’t found the Holy Grail of Sleep. Until I do, it’s a whine for a wine. Big J and I enjoy a couple of romantic shots of wine, and we’re off to bed like two drunk peas in a pod. Now that’s compatibility for ya’!

Don’t argue with your children

“Make a rule and stick to it and there will be no arguing necessary because it won’t get them anywhere.  Instead, try being empathetic towards them.”

I too try not to argue with my kids. Instead, I simply ignore them. You see, I’m no child psychologist, but the evidence is pretty clear that children lack in the brain department. Since having kids, I believe “blow your brains out” has a whole new meaning to it. Here’s my theory: basically kids have runny noses from birth. And when they sneeze, a massive thick yellow worm of mucus exits from their nose, sticking to their lips, and dangles mid-air from their chin. They then promptly smear it horizontally across their face with their Neanderthal hands.  I am now convinced that when they sneeze, they are literally blowing their brains out, cell by cell. It’s the only explanation! So I agree, it’s not fair to argue with someone who has the IQ of a squirrel.

Be prepared

“The root of impatient behavior is always the same: you are unprepared… Causing you to lose your temper. Being prepared stops this.”

News flash!!! You can organize yourself until the cows come home, but that doesn’t guarantee the kids will go along with the plan. Simply putting socks on a toddler requires a PhD in Fuckery. So just STOP!  Really,  just stop. Stop wasting your imaginary time preparing for your imaginary well-behaved children. It’s a little game I play with myself called “Who F’ing Cares? Not Me”. Seriously, if you can’t beat ’em… join ’em!

Drink more water and eat better

“Yes, it is true.  You are what you eat. Also if you don’t drink water,  you aren’t going to be as happy.”

Well, when I’m not hiding in the pantry shoving Oreo’s down my throat, I tend to eat the leftovers that I scraped off the floor. So if I am what I eat, that makes me the family dog.  But I do agree with her about the importance of drinking more to stay happy. She means water, I mean wine. Po-tay-to… Po-tah-to!

Take a break

“After you lose your temper, it can take 1/2 an hour to calm back down. Have your whole family spend time reading in their bedrooms for 30 minutes until everyone feels better.”

Really, it just get better and better, non? If I were to shut my Beasts in their bedrooms alone for more than one minute, it’d turn into a scene from Lord of the Flies. And I’m almost positive they’d make me Roger! Pray/Prey!  I know I keep going back to the Valium and wine, but it really is like taking a break… a long, well-deserved cognitive brain-numbing break. Plus, the kids love it… they call it the “Mommy Is a Rock” game.


Listen. Reality is, there is no shortage of tips and resources when it comes to parenting. But at the end of the day, it comes down to parenting the way that works best for YOU. Kids are little people who are simply doing the best they can… You’re all they have. Remember, you don’t want rush something that you want to last forever. So yes, try to be patient. Be kind. Be understanding. Parenting is one of the hardest and least rewarding jobs ever. So if you do lose your patience (and you will!), forgive yourself for being, well, human. And rather than wanting to blow your own brains out, take a minute and go stand outside… ’cause you are outstanding. You really really are, Mamas!


Red Whino

P.S. If you don’t want to take my asshole parenting advice (I beg you, please don’t!), here’s the article.

Is the G-Spot really all it’s made out to be?

Based on my last post, I hope you’re all feelin’ a little less horny. (If you missed my last post… WTF, read it!) But, unfortunately, there’s another component of Spring that we need to discuss…the dreaded “G” word: gardening!

I don’t do gardening. I have fake plants from Dollarama in my window flower boxes! They’ve been there for more than 3 years. This is the extent of my gardening abilities. I have ZERO interest in it!

But now I’ve become a stay-at-home with my Little Orange Crush, I’m feeling the domestic pressures of having to grow a vegetable garden. I try to get enthused about it, especially when I see signs that say “Spring is here. We’re so excited we could wet our plants”. But as punny cute as it is, I’m feeling pretty dry about the whole idea. I need to be titillated, People!

Thing is, I’m not opposed to having a vegetable garden, but I’m not convinced it’s all that great either. There are just so many other things I’d rather be doing, like swallowing knives, for instance.

But I’m willing to be convinced otherwise. Until then, here are some reasons why people swear by vegetable gardens, followed by my thoughts against on them:

Enjoy the outdoors

I love the outdoors. I just prefer to spend my time outside with my ass planted in a Muskoka chair, on my back deck, a bottle glass of wine in hand.

Save money

This I understand if you are from 19 and Counting and have 300 mouths to feed. Otherwise, really? How many friggin’ veggies do you eat, People? Last I checked, we were not going broke from our outrageous spending on vegetables… If there is a type of garden that lowers our mortgage or helps our retirement savings grow, I’m all for it! But veggies are not digging us into the poor house. Pun intended!

Make it a family affair

Unless Big J is having an affair with a hoe… I’m a little lost on this one! Camping, parks, waterslides, swimming, hikes, these are things we’d rather do with our Little Orange Crush. I didn’t spend my childhood hunched over a patch of dirt planting veggies with my Mama, and I turned out alright. Right? Hello?!?

Therapeutic healing powers

Really? ‘Cause it looks like it’ll do a number on my knees and my back. Not to mention exposing my leathery youthful skin to UV rays! Then again, I can think of an offensive four letter gardening word that just might have therapeutic benefits… W@#D! For medicinal purposes, of course!

Physical activity

Hmmm…The last time I participated in any physical activity, a seed was planted indeed. Shit, I ended up 50 pounds heavier with a baby on my hip! I’ve since sworn off any type of physical activity, thank you very much!

Gardening, well, it all just seems like a lot of whining when I’d much rather be wining, you know?

So here is my solution… maybe I can seduce sweet-talk Big J into doing it for me with the promise of healing, therapeutic results. Because as only a wise woman knows, if you want to grow your own dope… plant a man!

And who knows, maybe he’ll dig deep enough and we can enjoy our very own G-spot after all. Now that’s a reason to garden, if I do say so myself!


Red Whino

And that Ladies and Gentleman pretty much sums it up! THE END!

And that Ladies and Gentleman pretty much sums it up! THE END!

Do I make you horny, Baby?

Spring has sprung… finally! The days are getting warmer. Little birdies are a chirpin’. The smell of charcoaled carcass on the BBQ fills the air. Corpse-coloured legs are starting to get their stride on. Tankinis and Daisy Dukes’ are being dusted off. Flip flops are a flippin’. Love is in the air.

Everyone is coming out of hibernation after a long Canadian winter. Everyone’s feeling a little frisky… busy getting busy! (Did you know that next to Christmas, April is the most popular month to conceive? Well, now you do!)

Tis’ the Season for Spring Fever! Ladies throw on their little tank-tops and push-up bras, guys flex there biceps, and everyone is all like “Oh, baby baby”… Et Voila! A seed is planted. Also, it rains a lot in April, and well, what else is there to do when it rains, right? But apparently no one is wearing their protective rain gear.

Ahhh good ole’ Spring! What’s not to love…

I’ll tell you what… Horniness! And I’m not talking about the Spring Fever kind of horniness. No… I’m talking about horny f-cking toe nails! Jeyzuz! If you’re going to impose opened-toed shoes on the world, make sure your feet don’t look like a dog’s breakfast!

Seriously, do people look at their feet and say to themselves ‘Hmmm… I think the crusty, cracked souls of my feet really bring out the thick, yellow, fungussy toe nails.’? (I just vomited a bit in my mouth.) Honestly, I was standing in line the other day, and the man’s feet in front of me looked like they were right out of Deliverance!

Every year it’s the same! Everyone strips down to their skivvies and flip flops. Fine…Great! But why can’t people objectively see what their feet really look like? And I’m not talking about genetically gross feet… like those who’s second toe is 3 times longer than their big toe! ‘Cause it’s not their fault. There is little to be done about genetically ugly feet.

I’m talking about maintenance… HYGIENE! This is within our control, and we owe it to each other to ensure our feet are presentable. Otherwise, put your feet away! And no, socks with sandals is NOT the solution!

Really, there’s no excuse for such atrocities. It’s such a simple fix… get a bloody pedicure!!!  I’ve done my due diligence and had my Spring pedi. Next I’m going to get Big J in there so they can attempt to rid him of his tribal, coal-walking, horny feet.

And who knows… once we’ve dealt with Big J’s horny feet, this Big Mama might just have a lil’ Spring Fever left in her after all…


Red Whino

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From Horny to Horny... $10... Me Love You Long Time...

From Horny to Horny…
$10… Me Love You Long Time…

When in doubt, turn to Xanax!

Ok. So we know I’m heading to Florida. We’ve covered how best to protect yourself from Jaws (see yesterday’s post… can save your life and those of your loved ones). Another unavoidable thing one has to deal with when going on vacation is the dreaded task of shopping for a bathing suit. Ugh! And then having to wear a bathing suit. Double Ugh!


I’ve read all the magazines, and watched all the Oprah shows about ‘tips for every body shape’ . I also found that looking through the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition was very helpful as I find I have similar features… Cough!…As in we both have a heart beat (even still, I bet theirs’ is still thinner than mine!).

So, for those of you who don’t look like Kate Moss in the 90s, here are some tips I’m all too happy to share with you for when buying and wearing the much dreaded bathing suit:

Wine – This is a given. Just make sure not to consume enough that you’re tipsy on your feet. Cause then you’ll find yourself stammering around which causes all your body parts to wobble.

Lighting – The lighting in changerooms is similar to being in a holding cell while questioned by the IRS during tax season. Politely ask that the store turn all power off. It’s amazing how good one looks in the pitch black dark.

Stay clear of UV rays – Oh! Were you thinking I was concerned about your skin? Please! For the same reasons as the above point, it’s best not to be seen in daylight. Become a Twilight fan… from dusk to dawn! Release the teenage groupie in you…Go Team Pattinson! (Side note: Having a moment here! This brings me back to my NKOTB days… I ‘heart’ Jordan!)

Shelving units – What’s with all the rage about underwire support? Maybe for the lucky B cups out there. For the rest of us (especially those of us who have been vacuum-sucked by a bass-lipped monkey) nothing can hold the girlz up like shelving. Tip: IKEA usually has some pretty good deals.

Food – Easy one! Avoid it at all costs… like for the 12 months leading up to the big ‘shop’, and while on vacation. It’s just not worth the risk!

Ruffles – I’m not talking Ruffles chips here, Ladies. Fabric ruffles distract from ripples and rolls… And yes, it’s totally inappropriate to wear ruffles after the age of 6, but vanity trumps all else!

Wind machine – They might not have one in the store, so bring your own. Blowing hair (on your head, not you legs) is a welcome distraction from what’s happening below. Think Mariah Carey! I also suggest you have one with you on the beach. Yes, it’s a logistical nightmare, but consider the alternative. But do not… I repeat, do not… go swimming with the wind machine. It’s dangerous. You could electrocute yourself, which will only attract unwanted attention.

Agent Orange – Nothing says ‘radiant’ like a dash of Linsday Lohan! Also helps hide the ‘cottage cheese’ on my one’s thighs.

Borrow a baby – The younger the better. Preferably twins if you can get your hands on a pair. It not only justifies a few extra kilos pounds, but babies are attention whores… Everyone loves a cute baby! It’s all about diverting attention from your ruffles!

Cry Wolf – My Mama always told me to cry wolf. Or was it never cry wolf? Anyways, when exiting the pool or ocean (assuming you haven’t been attacked by a shark) scream “WOLF” and point in the opposite direction of where your towel is. This will give you just enough time to run for cover. When they turn their attention back to you in utter confusion, just growl at them and wink. Some might even find this a little sexy… if not certifiable.

Don’t sit down! It’s inevitable… you will feel defeated (unfortunately not deflated) in your bathing suit. But for the love of God, stand up and feel sorry for yourself. Sitting down only makes those thighs spill over like a chocolate lava cake with a side serving of cottage cheese. Mmmm… cake!

100% proof! Well Vodka obviously. You don’t have to worry about the whole stagger/wobble situation (see point 1) as you will just fall into a toxic coma! Then again, this just makes you vulnerable to having people stare at you while you’re passed out. Best to save your vodka for another time.

Really, I think Xanax is your safest bet.

So there you have it! The Red Whino’s Guide to looking your best on the beach! And for those of you who swear by diet and exercise… well, good on you! Crunch a carrot and go drown in a lake of diet coke.

And listen, I’m all for Girl Power… rah rah rah, and all that! But the reality is, the whole ‘Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful’ thing…Well Miss Sports Illustrated, I DO! I mean, common’!!! You couldn’t have shared some of your perfect genes with the rest of us? And in Gisele Bundchen’s case, your husband from time to time too?

Oh well, c’est la vie! Until then, I’m off to Florida with my very own Tom Brady who loves me and all my lady lumps in my not-so-itsy-bitsy-yellow-ruffled-one-piece-bikini!


Red Whino

My Mama always told me to use protection…

I’m going to Florida! That’s right, to hot and sunny Florida! Don’t worry, this post isn’t to rub it in your pasty white faces! Oh, no! There is a much more serious matter that we must discuss: My safety.

I am a by-product of the 80s… which inadvertantly makes me a victim of Generation Jaws! And I suffer… I suffer something bad! I not only fear sharks in the ocean. I fear sharks everywhere… as in lakes, pools, bathtubs, under my bed! (Don’t laugh… I know someone who is afraid of straws!)

Don't try to tell me this picture has been Photoshopped! Please, I'm not THAT naive! I know real when I see it...

Don’t try to tell me this picture has been Photoshopped! Please, I’m not THAT naive! I know real when I see it…

I obsess over sharks. I believe Shark Week should be a national holiday… for the safety of the good citizens of our nation, of course. I research shark attacks when choosing a vacation destication. Hell, I even research shark attacks when we’re on “stay”cation… in Toronto! One can never be too careful!

I watch Jaws before every vacation to remind myself of the imminent danger I could be facing. I never let my guard down. I am protected at all times. You never know when he is lurking around the corner.

So, as I mentioned, I’m heading to Florida. Which is concerning for obvious reasons.

I have it on good authority that there have been several shark sightings in Florida this year. I have no evidence to back this up… In fact, I’m not entirely sure where I heard this… or IF I even heard this… or just MADE IT UP.  But still, I know it to be true!

So, like the good daughter I am, I’m taking my Mama’s advice! She always told me to use protection… (You were referring to sharks, right Mama?)

Here is how I plan on protecting myself and returning with all my limbs intact:

– I will avoid the ocean like the plague. That shark is waiting for me! Well maybe not exactly like the plague… I will go in up to my ankles… cause I’m crazy adventurous like that!

– My sister-in-law LGW told me that sharks prefer red heads. I am now a blonde…

– I have a snorkeling mask that has a rear-view mirror on the each side should I be approached from behind. One can never be too careful – even in pools!

– I will have a bear whistle around my neck at all times should I see a shadow lurking…

– I have increased my life insurance so my Little Orange Crush can live in the lap of luxury knowing it’s all because his mom died in the jaws of Jaws.

– They say to punch a shark directly in the nose should you come under attack. So I will wear stilettos in the pool and should I see anything come towards me, I’ll Single-White-Female that bastard in the eyes.

– I will wear a fat suit over my own built-in fat suit. Make him work for his lunch!

But my main source of protection is this: while my family stupidly frolics in the crystal clear, warm, beautiful Florida waters… I will be safely sitting at the bar drowning myself in pina coladas… I call it the Hammered Head Shark Defence!

Wish me luck!

baby shark

I’m thinking I need to get this outfit for my Little Orange Crush… Because what if a shark fornicates with a crocodile? We’d have a “sharkodile” on our hands who could snatch my little one right off the beach. No, I must lead them to believe he’s “one of them”… Safety first, people. SAFETY FIRST!!!

shark chair

And lastly, I NEED to get me one of these! As IF I’d EVER sit on it… But I could use it when doing my squats (let’s pretend I do squats, ok?)… and with each reps, I’ll say: “Kiss my ass Jaws!  Kiss my BIG GREAT WHITE ASS!!!”

Cheers, Red Whino

Will the real Louis Vuitton please stand up!

In honour of the… ummm…most unique dog ever, pour yourself a stiff one and enjoy! Cheers!


My Louis Vuitton might not come from Holtz or Saks… and happens to be in the shape of a dog… but he is just as genuine, and equally as expensive.

Yesterday we had to say goodbye to our dog, AKA Sir Louis Vuitton. It was a hard day. And today is harder yet. The house is quiet. We miss him.

We adopted Louis 3 years ago from the Humane Society. Louis had been handed a raw deal in life. He had a lot of medical issues. He required a lot of care. We knew all this when we got him. But Big J and I  felt he deserved a place to call home.  This was how Sir Louis Vuitton entered our lives… and let’s just say things have never been the same since!

We couldn’t fix the medical issues, but we were able to keep Louis comfortable. I don’t want to focus this blog post on his medical problems, as there was nothing funny about them. I’d prefer to keep it upbeat, in light of Louis’ spirit and personality.

I’m also not going to gush about what an awesome dog Louis was… To be honest, he was not awesome in the typical Caesar-Millan-Dog Whisperer-kinda-obediant kinda way. He was awesome alright… awesomely special… as in, he had a reserved front row seat on the “special” bus!  We’ve owned dogs before, but jeezuz shit f*ck did this dog ever top the charts.

Well-behaved is not how I would describe Louis.  Kinda like me in my teenage years, Louis was all about breaking the rules. Like Frank Sinatra, Louis did it his way!

Marly and Me have nothing on Louis Vuitton and Me. You see, Louis suffered from a severe case of Stupidity… for which there appeared to be no cure.

  • He was the dog who takes a dump in the front hall right after coming home from a 1-hour walk.
  • According to Louis, the Bible had only One Commandment: Thou shall NOT obey. EVER! (He was very orthodox in practice in this respect!)
  • He loved going for long drives. But he never understood that window glass serves as a barrier. If there was a dog in the car next to us, Louis would throw himself against the glass like a caged UFC fighter.
  • Louis was part garborator. He ate anything and everything….12 bars of soap (in one go!), entire rolls of tin foil, packs of Midol pills, full trays of brownies. Our house was like being in lock-down at Alcatraz, but Louis was like Houdini. If it meant chewing the door off its hinges, it was all in a days’ work.  What’s that? Crate him? Oh, we tried. He escaped everytime… either by chewing through the plastic crate or bending the metal part with his teeth.
  • He had a long-standing addiction to toilet paper. Not a day went by where our house didn’t look  like a coke-induced Zeus sneezed a big one.
  • And, finally, don’t ever, ever, ever leave dinner on the counter. Now you see it… now you don’t. Just like that. MAGIC!


By now you’re probably thinking “why the f*ck did they put up with this dog?”. It’s quite simple really… by this point, we had fallen for our special little friend.

What I have not mentioned is that regardless of all his shinanagans, Louis was a great soul. He was full of personality. He was loving. Not a day went by where Louis didn’t bring a smile to our face, laughter to our life.

Was he well behaved? Hell, no! He was not the “Sit BooBoo, sit. Good dog. Woof” dog from the 90’s (or was that the 80’s? I feel old).  Louis was not ‘vanilla’. He would not have made Oprah proud. But who cares. Have you met ME? Who am I to judge?  I don’t do ‘normal’. I wouldn’t even know what to do with ‘normal’. Life is too short for normal… But it’s well worth the ride, right Louis?

I truly will miss you, my furry friend. In the meantime, I am enjoying ample amounts of toilet paper still on the roll!

A toast to you, Sir Louis Vuitton! xoxo


Red Whino