Sexually “her-ass” my ass, please!

The older I get… And, errrr, the longer I stay married, the more I’ve come to appreciate being sexually harassed. It’s kinda become an unexpected, but oh-so-welcome, form of flirting to me… Some much, much needed attention to keep this ole’ bat’s self-confidence alive.

SH pic

All this to say, I’m being harassed… finally! Only this time, I need it to STOP!

You see, there’s this mother from one of the programs I take my Beasts to… And well, I made the mistake of giving her my cell number, and have since been harassed with a slew of  “let’s get together” (smiley face) texts.

Here’s the thing, this Mother Of A Harasser is 20. Twenty!!! B-Jeezuz! Me? I’ve lived long enough to have shit myself in public. I’ve reached the stage where I’m asking myself what this whole “aging like a fine wine” bullshit is really all about… ‘Cause so far I’m aging like a f*cking carton of milk!  And I’m not only talking about my face! My boobs and vagina aren’t aging all that well either! When your boobs are longer than your shirt, and your vagina longer than your shorts, you know you’ve LONG passed the expiry date!

And there’s more, as if the whole 20-year-old thing isn’t bad enough… She still lives at home with Mommy and Daddy, and probably has a poster of Nickelback on her wall. So seriously, what could Miss Teen Whoopsy Baby and I possibly have to talk about at our little “get together”? How back in the Stone Ages when I was her age, a teen pregnancy meant a hop, skip and a jump to the nearest “clinic”, NOT unrealistic dreams of a reality teen pregnancy show? OMG! Do you hear me? I swear, sometimes I open my mouth and my mother sneaks out!

But anyways, the point of this post is this… I was telling Big J about how I’m being stalked by a 20 year old Mother Of A Harasser, and how I need his advice on how best to ditch her, gently!

So naturally, being the attentive, caring husband he is, Big J showed his genuine concern about the whole situation by asking me if she was hot?

“Ummm… She has a good body, I guess”, I replied.

To which he replied, “Good enough. I’ll just cover her face with a picture of you… my beautiful wife. (OK. Now I want you to repeat this last sentence out loud. Only this time, I want you to really emphasize the words “beautiful wife” while trying unsuccessfully to give a seductive look… Followed by a wink! Ewww, right?)

I looked at him in utter disbelief that this is his idea of verbal foreplay.

“What? It’s a compliment, Honey! It shows that I don’t want to think about anyone else but you. Only you, babe.” And he winked, again!

You’re probably thinking: Big J, you Jack Ass! Inside voice… Use your Inside voice, Man!

Me? It wasn’t so much his assy comment that surprised me. Rather his misguided self-confidence of automatically assuming that a 20 year old with a good body would want him! That he’d be the one having to cover her face…

I told him so much.

He responds by singing “I got the moves like Jagger”.  Ugh! And while my first instinct was to quote Jagger, ‘I can’t get no… Satisfaction!’ I refrained. Thing is, I guess he did have a point. I mean, I am the one who promised to spend the rest of my sex life with him. And I am the one who got knocked up in a nano-second… 3 times over!

So there you have it. It’s Big J and Red Whino 4 eva’!  So while he might fantasize about 20-year-old bodies topped with his wife’s milk-carton face. And I might fantasize about trading in his aging ass for a younger, firmer version, for now we’ll both just have to hope somebody throws some good ole’ sexual harassment our way every now and then. ‘Cause even though Big J thinks he’s  Mr. Don Juan who got da’ moves like Jagger… he better not sexually “Her-Ass” anyone – or anything-  other than MY Ass!


Red Whino

WISH YOU WERE HEREditarily not like your Mama when you hit your teen years…

Karma can be a bitch, non? I’m going to share a little secret with you… I was ummm, well, a f*cking nightmare when I was a teenager. I’m sure my Mama will comment below in TOTAL agreement… Unless she’s still suffering from PTSD, which is very possible, if not probable! Anyways, so you can understand why I’m dreading the day my Beasts reaches their teen years! All I can say is ‘payback’!

My three Beasts keep me busy. Yet while I barely have time to wipe my own ass… I somehow find the time to indulge in f*cking Pinterest! It seems my priorities are ass backwards.

Anyways, according to Pinterest, all “good” mothers write a ‘Wish List’ for their children each year on their birthday. They then collect the Wish Lists in a jar. All together now… Awwww!!! Then 18 years later, the oh-so-lucky child gets to read their mothers’ wishes… making them feel like even bigger failures than their teenage selves already do.

So I figured, why not share with the world my Wish List for my little Beasts:

Wish 1: On Teen Pregnancy
Let me be very clear on this… This Grandma will not be raising Baby Whoops. You are to wear TWO condoms AT ALL TIMES… whether you’re sexting, sexing, studying or sleeping! I will ensure condom dispensers are readily available to you at all times! I will even be so kind as to throw a couple rubbers in my purse, so when you steal money from my wallet you’ll be reminded yet again to ‘suit up’! Yes, in a weird way I am encouraging you to steal money out of my wallet… if only to shove more condoms down your pants.

Wish 2: On drinking n’ drugs
It’s inevitable, I know! Trust me, your ole’ Mama didn’t spend her teen years celebrating Pi Day with a square head who celebrated the characteristics of a circle. So you can’t pull the wool over my eyes on this one, Boys. Just be smart about it! Know your limits. Know when it’s no longer ‘cool’. You don’t have to be the jackass who does ‘keg stands’… it can only lead to broken ankles and diarrhea (errr, or so I’ve heard). And trust me there’s nothing worse than having a broken ankles AND diarrhea (again, hearsay!)… You just can’t get there in time, you know? Me either! Also, promise me that if you smoke a joint, you’ll do it while listening to Pink Floyd, and not f*cking Justin Timberlake!

Wish 3: On Career Choices
I want you all to be happy in whatever you boys choose to do. I don’t want you to become a Harvard-graduate, brain surgeon simply to please little ole’ me (nudge, nudge, wink, wink!!!) I want you to choose a career you truly love.  I know, I know, easier said than done. ‘Cause trust me, I know only to well how hard it is to find something you love and get paid for it. I am still trying to find someone who’ll pay me to drink and sleep! That said, it would be wise to choose a rather lucrative career in order to cover the luxury retirement living I’m expecting to reside… cause otherwise Mama’s movin’ in!

Wish 4: On physical appearance
Wear whatever you want…I don’t care… just wear a G-d damn belt! As cute as your ass is at the ripe age of one, no one needs to see it in it’s 16-years of harry glory. And tattoo yourself crazy! Just promise me not to tattoo Simba from the Lion King onto your chest! Yes, what seemed like a promising young man to your Mama at one time just happened to take off his shirt… and let’s just say the moment was ova’. OVA’! And who knows, maybe you’ll even get a tattoo for your old Lady? How about an “I love My Mommy” tat right on your forehead? That way when you spend your entire life with your face in your phone at the table, I’ll look over and see “I love my Mommy” staring back at me. It’ll make me feel all warm and fuzzy… almost like we’re verbally communicating. What’s that? You don’t know what ‘verbal communication’ is? Sigh…

After writing out my Wish List for my Beasts, the looong day-to-day demands of their infancy and toddler years are just foreplay for the shit that’s to come. Oh, Karma… throw me a wishbone, will ya? Penance and all that, non?

Or maybe the joke will be on me. Maybe I’ll end up with kids who are home before curfew… kids who prefer studying over a hazzy Pink Floyd session… kids who are not at risk of becoming teen fathers because they prefers one-handed sexting… kids who really want to be surgeons! I mean, what the hell would I do with kids like that?

Only I hear Karma whisper softly over my shoulder… “Dream on, Lady… Dream on… It’s payback time, Mama! P-A-Y-B-A-C-K!!!” So I get out my pen and paper to make yet one last wish for my Beasts. I pray that they are not like their Mama in their teen years… or their father for that matter.

Wish #5? Shine on you crazy children. Shine on!

Cheers, Red Whino

In other non-related news… and for some shameless self-promotion… I’m featured as a Kick Ass Mom Blogger on Strolling The City In Heels.  It’s written by a funky mom named Emma, and it’s a great site for easy tips on fashion, beauty products, and good reads. Since following this blog, I’ve gone from wearing tie-dye t-shirts with elastic-waisted pants and white runners with black socks, to being a fashion-force on the playground. Really, she’s doing society a favour with her blog. Check it out!

Sex after children

So lately I’ve been asking myself the age old question… Is there sex after children? I mean seriously, what IS the secret to bringing back those wild, teenage-like romping days?

I receive a lot of requests from many of you on topics you’d like me to write about. I totally don’t know why, but the one I get over and over and over again is for me to share my thoughts on ‘sex after children’.

I’m humbled (if not a little confused?) that you’re interested in my opinion on such matters.  In fact, Big J is even more perplexed about this one. “Why are they asking YOU? What do YOU know about sex after kids?” Point taken, Honey! Point taken!” Although we did end up with three kids in three years… so I must know a little somethin’about sex after children. I’m just obviously lacking when I comes to knowing anything about birth control.

But seriously, how does one ever find the time to have sex in a post-baby world? Between diaper changes and wine consumption, I’m spent… if not a little drunk!

Anyways, I Googled. And here’s the thing… The Top 5 Tips on how to keep the sex a rockin’ after the kids’ come a knockin’ just make me want to punch someone in the throat!

Tip #1: Schedule it in!
At first, it doesn’t sound very romantic… but it kinda makes sense, right? I mean, truth is, most working adults fall into a sort of ‘sex routine’ well before the kids arrive. And there’s no question that things do slow down in a kid-invaded household, so sure it’s a nice idea to schedule in some “sexy” time. But it’s a bit of a turn-off when you have to include the YEAR in which that sexy time will happen… or possible not happen. Nothing says “I love you” like sex in 2019!

Tip#2:  Tell him you’re fantasizing about him even though you don’t have time to actually have sex
Apparently you can verbally engage in sexual intercourse without ever having to ‘do it’, and it’s just as satisfying.  I can see Big J being ‘into it’ for maybe a nano-second… after that it’s just empty promises that’ll lead to a sex fight. And I always say, keep the fights clean and the sex dirty.  So seriously, save the fantasies for Tom Brady, and sex for your husband (while fantasizing about Tom Brady, of course!)

Tip #3: Change your mindset
They say to stop looking at sex as yet another chore. Ummm… but according to Tip #1, it’s on my ‘To Do’ list… MAKING IT A CHORE! It’s yet another thing us Mamas have to ‘get done’ before we can close our aging eyelids and slip into a coma from which we wish to never wake. Me? I try to look at sex like a much-needed glass of wine, cause there’s nothing like a glass of wine to put me in the mood for… well, another glass of wine! I digress…

Tip #4: Date night
Apparently going out for dinner will miraculously turn us into wild horny animals!  Maybe it’s just me… but the thought of having to shower and put on a bra exhausts me. In addition to painting on my eyebrows and caking some makeup on, I just don’t have it in me! I guess the dinner is supposed to be foreplay? To that I say, simply brushing your teeth is foreplay enough for me these days!

Tip #5: “Too tired” is not an excuse
Ugh! I’m too tired to even give this one the attention it doesn’t deserve… All I have to say is that’s what the internet is for, Boyz! Use it…!

But seriously, you asked for my advice, so here it is: the only way to spice up your sex life in a post-baby world is to… wait for it…  JUST HAVE SEX! Just getter’ done! Pour yourself a nice glass of wine, and then a couple more, and go for it! You never know, you just might enjoy yourself… Or is that the wine talking?


Red Whino

Dear Non-Parents…

These days it seems like we’re all cheering for one team or another. Pepsi vs. Coke. Boob versus bottle. Aniston vs. Angelina (Still? Or have we all moved on?).  Trump versus, well almost everyone. And, of course, the ever-lasting feud… Team Parents vs. Non-Parents.

When it comes to the whole Parent vs. Non-Parent debacle, I’m totally a team player. When I’m with Non-Parents, I try very hard not to talk about my 3 Beasts… Just kidding, it’s actually quite easy and refreshing to forget about them.  Instead, I happily sit back and listen to the Non-Parents complain about their perfect f*cking child-free lives. (Insert eye roll!)

It seems Non-Parents have found yet another thing in their perfect child-free lives to complain about. Apparently, we ‘Parents’ say hurtful things to them. Sniff! Sniff!  I came across this following article: Five Things Parents Need to Stop Saying to Non-Parents. I ever-so-patiently read through it only to come to the conclusion that Non-Parents are just a bunch of whiny jerks. I mean, by intentionally not bringing a child into the world, these Non-Parents are able to maintain their sanity, body shape, livelihood, and liver. Really, they have a golden horseshoe shoved so far up their you-know-whats, they aren’t even able to appreciate it. IgnorANUS! (Oh, envy is a terrible thing. Is it not?)

But what about us parents? What about the hurtful things Non-Parents shouldn’t say to US?

Here is MY list of the Five Things Non-Parents Should Stop Saying to Parents:

“Sorry my house is such a mess”

Ok. Fine. So you think because your pastel, silk throw pillows haven’t been ‘fluffed’ and because you have a spec of dusk beside your glistening toilet (that I would eat off of, by the way), that your house is a mess.

Here. Try this: Go home. Smear peanut butter, jam and Cheese Whiz all over your sofa. Then squeeze honey all over your carpet, and empty a tub of icecream over top (for good measure, of course!). Now spray about 30 grape juiceboxes all over your walls and windows (note: must be grape, apple juice simply doesn’t do enough damage). Now toss a couple of fish sticks and chicken nuggets behind your sofa and leave them there for 9 months. Last, but not least, grab a Sharpie and scribble all over your plasma screen. THEN tell me your f*cking house is a mess!

“I feel fat”

Here, try this one on for size… Put your perfectly-pedicured, callus-free feet in my fat-ass shoes for a second. Then strap a nap sack on backwards. Fill it with 60 pounds of soiled diapers. Then take 2 melons and shove them down your bra. (Note: If your bra is not touching the floor, your melons aren’t heavy enough. Try again!) Now take 2 loafs of bread, soak them in water and tape them to your outer thighs. Now take 1025 apples and scatter them around the room, and squat down and pick them all up while wearing your “mom suit”. THEN tell me you feel fat… I dare you!

“Sorry I’m late. I slept through my alarm”

The fact that after an uninterrupted sleep, you have the ability to sleep through your alarm indicates to me that you basically slept in! To which I reply: Screw you!

Try this instead: Right when you are about to sit down and relax for the evening… Don’t! Get up and go catch yourself a bird (must be alive). Now sit down, and attempt to keep the bird on your lap while you read the same story, over and over and over again. When the bird starts to squawk and peck at your face to the point of blood, smile and tell the bird that you love it to the moon and back again. Now for beddy bye bye BYE, grab a 30 pound cinder block. Slow dance with the chuck of cement for about 2 hours. Wake up at 12:30am. Repeat. Wake up at 2:30am. Repeat. Wake up at 4:30am and start your day… with a smile, of course! As I said… screw you and your alarm!

“I SO need a vacation”

Don’t we all! But you see, here’s the difference. Your vacation will be just that… a vacation. You will fly to the destination of your choosing. You will relax. You will drink. You will feast. You will REST.

For those of us who are serving a life sentence for one drunken night of unprotected sex, we then further suffer the consequences by having to go to f*cking Disney World… every year… for eternity!

“I’m so broke”

I hear ya’. Michael Kors bags don’t come cheap these days, do they?

How ’bout this instead… Every week, go to the grocery store and simply hand over your wallet. Then go to the bank and have them drain ALL your accounts, retirement savings and stocks and bonds, along with your dignity. Most likely this won’t be enough to cover your car payments, loans and mortgage. Oh well, what can you do? Nothing says I LOVE YOU like DEBT!  Simply go home and drink copious amounts of wine… because really it’s the only ‘liquid asset’ to your name at this point.

People, the reality is Parents and Non-Parents tend to drift apart in the post-baby-world. Only it’s NOT because they have little left in common, rather because their once stylish, fun, hygienic friends now smell like they’ve marinated themselves in vomit and peanut butter, wear sweat pants (with elastic ankles), have a blank look in their eyes and drive minivans. Trust me, I don’t want to hang out with myself either!

But really, I think we all just need to get over ourselves. In the end, whether a Parents or a Non-Parents… we all still have one thing in common: WINE!

So let’s leave our sensitivity caps at the door… Let’s simply come together and agree to whine less, and wine more.


Red Whino

Sharing is Caring. Feel free to spread the love and laughter this blog has to offer.  Also follow me on FaceBook under Red Whine Diaries for more of my Thoughtless Thoughts.

PS. Please know that when I refer to “Non-Parents” in the above post, I am referring to those who intentionally chose not to have children, or want them eventually but just not yet. I am NOT referring to the ‘non-parents’ who are desperately trying to bring a wee one into their lives, whether via adoption, surrogacy, IVF or the good ole’ fashion way. I already consider you Team Parent… cause eventually your dream will come true and you’ll be driving a minivan in no time. Peace!

2P or not 2P… That is the question!

The dog days of summer are upon us. And with the extreme heat, come the pool parties. And with pool parties, comes the question: To pee or not to pee… in da’ pool, of course!

I’ve had this conversation with a lot of people, and most say they do NOT pee in pools (insert eye roll). My research has led me to one conclusion: That there are 2 types of people: those who pee in pools, and those who LIE!


Also, there’s been recent evidence that ‘urine tracing dyes’ are a myth. (WooHoo!) See? Believe it or not, I do actually do some research for what some might otherwise call an unintelligible blog. Sheesh! So you no longer need to go through the motion of letting out a little squirt, looking down for the blue dye, only to then let ‘er rip!  It was all lies… lies, lies, lies! Propaganda, my friends, propaganda!

So, now that we know we all pee in pools (whether you admit it or not), AND that there is no traceable evidence, we need to cover the etiquette of  HOW to pee in a pool. ‘Cause like anything in life… if you want to be successful, you have to have a plan. It’s all about strategy, People!

Here are my Top 8 Tips to help you pee in your friend’s pool without being suspected of doing what everyone else is doing anyway… peeing!

1. Don’t stay in the pool for too long. Frolicking around (do not stay still for even a minute!), get out have a drink, immerse yourself once more, do the deed, frolick some more. On the flip side, do NOT get in, pee, and get out. WAY TOO OBVIOUS! It’s all about timing!

2. Be careful not to pee only to have an unplanned poop too! We’ve all had this happen to us while on the shitter. You go to the bathroom for a quick tinkle, only to have a sneaky poop rear its ugly head. In a pool though? Shit, this is a tough one. It can happen (or so I’ve heard!), so you need to be prepared. Always carry a brownie in a little zip lock baggie… safely tuck it in your bikini top or shorts, and if you have an unplanned liquid poop, quickly shove the brownie in your mouth and pretend to barf. No one will appreciate the fact that you’ve thrown-up in the pool, but at least they won’t know you’ve really taken a dump in the pool. IF your unplanned poop is a hard one, try to inconspicuously toss it into the bush!

3. Pee IN the pool, not INTO the pool! Boys, yes I know you’ve been blessed with the ability to whip it out wherever and whenever you want, but do not stand along the sides and relieve yourself. And ladies, definitely don’t squat over the edge. Just get in the water! Or (gasp!) use the bathroom!

4. If you’ve had asparagus within 24 hours of the pool party, peeing while submersed in water eliminates the asparagus pee smell. So really, you are doing everyone a favor by NOT using the bathroom! ‘Cause who wants to use the bathroom after someone’s had an asparagus pee?

5. After pushing a watermelon out of a golf ball sized hole, a mother simply has to cough or sneeze and she’ll piss herself. So really, peeing in a pool should be a constitutional right for all mothers!

6. Do not reach down and move your bikini crotch off to the side. SO OBVIOUS! As Nike says: Just Do It!

7. Do not draw attention to warm spots… yours’ or others. Guilt by association, People. Plus, it’s just childish behavior!

8. If you have kids, BRING THEM! If you don’t have kids, BORROW SOME! The younger the better. Should you get caught, there’s nothing better than blaming a poor, innocent child who doesn’t’ have the ability to speak for themselves for your wrong doings. It’s parenting 101, really.

So, 2P or not 2P…?

Oh common’, don’t make a liar out of yourself. Just pee already…  As they say, when in Rome…

Just make sure you don’t pee in MY pool… and I don’t care how much asparagus you’ve eaten!

Cheers, Red Whino

PS. For those of you who left your sense of humor back at the office, I don’t tend to pee in pools. Not going to say I never have, but I do my best not to… cause I’m classy n’ shit like that!  But lakes and oceans? They’re fair game, y’all! Fair game…

Let the Potty Mouth Training begin… F*ck!

Warning: This post contains several ‘bad’ words… If you are prudishly sensitive or otherwise just live under a rock, my advice to you is to skip it! If you choose to read it, find yourself offended, and then feel the need to send me hate mail… Please do! I so enjoy reading them!

For the rest of you…

Our Beasts have gone from being sweet lumps on the couch to masterful mimicking clowns. They observes everything we do, and everything we say.  In other words… they are very influential right now. Which, well, is somewhat worrisome considering they have me for a mother and Big J for a father. So to avoid raising  2.0 versions of *cough* ourselves… Big J and I have embarked on the daunting task of potty training our filthy mouths.

I, Red Whino, do solemnly swear… ummm, not to swear! Is that an oxymoron?!?

I never realized just how often I drop the F-bomb… until it came time to stop!  It’s second nature for me. You see, I am fluently educated in 4 languages… English, French, Sarcasm, and Swearing. For me, it takes so much pre-emptive thought just to string together a child-proof sentence that sometimes it’s easier to just say nothing at all.

I hesitate to ask Big J how his day was… because how does one describe a day at the office without a pint-size ‘f*ck’? And he certainly won’t ask me how my day was… because how does one spend a day with a threesome of babbling monkeys without a keg sized ‘f*ck’? So while our our Beasts are around, Big J and I basically just stare at one another like a pair of stunned blowfish. Because without swear words, what we’ve got here is failure to communicate!

I mean seriously, how does one effectively express themselves otherwise? ‘Poopie pants’ and ‘meanie head’ just don’t cut it. And I refuse to become one of those douche bags who use ‘friggin’… Ugh! So friggin’ lame, right?

But alas, Big J and I have pledged to clean-up our daytime red neck potty-mouths… If only for the sake of our sweet savage children, of course. Also, and more importantly, for the sake of my reputation. ‘Cause if I’m anything… I’m one classy lady!


But when our little monkeys go to bed? Ah, well, the gloves come off… Big J and I get our f*ck on!

Together, in perfect synchronized harmony, we f*ck! It’s like we’re newlyweds all over again…  f*cking as much as possible.  Ahhh, the sweet language of love.

And when it’s time for Mommy and Daddy to go to bed, we snuggle up and succumb to our sweet f*cking dreams, knowing we’ll wake up on mute for yet another day of responsible-parenting.

Really it’s the best f*cking we’ve had in a long time… and we didn’t even have to get under the covers to enjoy it!


Red Whino

The Horror! The Whore!

Every little girl dreams of becoming a mother someday… Or a hooker!

The other night I was having drinks with a girlfriend when she told me that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to have children anymore. Gasp! Or as Joseph Conrad once said: The Horror! The Horror!

Just kidding! I know motherhood is similar to guerilla warfare… and not everyone wants to go to war! Fair enough! I mean, I dare you to spend a couple hours at my house… I bet you’ll race to the nearest Home Depot so you can Crazy Glue your vagina shut!

But seriously, it wasn’t my friend’s admission that surprised me, but rather the way she said it… quietly, and ridden with guilt. Almost as if I would pounce across the table and claw her evil non-Mommy Dearest eyes out. I guess she failed to notice the birth control pills I was popping with every sip of wine… While practising abstinence, I might add! One can never be too careful! They also say it’s something in the water… so I drink wine instead!

Don’t get me wrong… I love my Beasts and all the craziness they bring to my life. I wouldn’t change it for a thing! But I chose to have children. I so respect and admire my girlfriends who have the foresight to know that they do not want children. I mean, it’s better than having children only to then be reminded why you didn’t want them in the first place, right?

So why the guilt? Well, the more I thought about it, the more I understood… As young girls turned women, we are brainwashed into thinking we must procreate. The very idea that a woman might actually not be interested in having her nice, pink curtains turned into a hearty, meat lasagna is blasphemous. While boys are busy playing their adventure games, girls are busy “playing house”.

For girls, it’s all about finding prince charming and living happily ever-after. Well let me tell you, this Queen has kissed many a’ frogs in her day, only to be left with herpe-like warts around her mouth. As you get older, you quickly learn that it takes a few notches in the ole’ belt to realize that one girl’s piece of shit boyfriend is another drunk slut’s prince charming.

And just when you thought women were making headway… you walk into a toy store and get retail-raped by a sea of pink treadmills, pink stripper poles, pink lingerie, pink breastfeeding dolls, pink stilettos…. the list goes on! The gender stereotyping toys of my time were nothing compared to the shit they sell today. Case n’ point:


No longer will girls (or boys insirectly) be able to enjoy their perky 20’s, ’cause they’re now being vacuum sucked from the tender age of 3!


Barbie, her perfect double Ds and 21 inch waist are having a baby! Awwww….

girl 4

If only these panties and cell phones were around in my time… I’d have been the star of 16 and Pregnant and would now be enjoying life as a porn star on meth! Shucks!


What? You mean to tell me that I wasted my youth on gymnastics and skip rope?!? The only poles that I knew of were the ones on the street that I licked in the winter to see if my tongue would stick (FYI, it did… and it hurt!)

girl 3

Oh no you don’t!  Nice try little girl… but Santa brought THIS toy for Mommy! Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!

Really it’s no wonder my friend felt guilty… I mean, the nerve of her to chose to enjoy her weekend sleep-ins, shopping sprees, wash-board abs and silky pink curtains… Gasp! The whore! The whore! The lucky, lucky whore!

Cheers, Red Whino

50 Shades of Baby… Just in time for Father’s Day!

HaHaHappy Father's Day...

HaHaHappy Father’s Day…

Dear Daddy…

Once upon a time,
My Mommy and Daddy drank too much wine.
Lucky for me, Daddy forgot to wear protection.
And it just so happens… my conception!

Life as they knew it, was never the same.
A force to be reckoned with.
Little Orange Crush IS my name.

It’s all about me and what I want to do.
Feed me.
Play with me.
Now clean my poo.

I want to go outside.
Now I want to go in.
Now back outside.
I don’t care if we’ve just been.

Pick me up.
Put me down.
Now change me again.
I’m smelling kinda brown.

I’m hungry.
I’m tired.
No wait, I’m wired.

I’m happy.
I’m sad.
I’m laughing.
I’m mad.

I’m hot. I’m cold.
I’m up. I’m down.
Now change me again.
I’ve gifted you with some more brown.

What’s that? You have errands to do.
No problem. Let’s go.
In the car. Outta the car.
I promise you, we won’t get far.

I’ll scream. I’ll smile.
I’ll sit still, but only for a little while.
You’re on my time now.
And peace of mind, I do not allow.

Read me a story.
Put me to bed.
Just kidding…
I’m messing with your head.

Ok. Fine. I’m asleep in my crib.
Just remember, you have no power.
So don’t bother relaxing.
Cause I’ll be up in another hour.

My gift to you this Father’s Day,
Is quality time… just me and you.
So you can truly see what Mommy goes through.

By the end of the day, you might wish
That you’d worn protection.
Or drank enough wine,
To lose that erection.

But you wouldn’t have me.
Good times and bad,
We are better as three.

So for an entire day… just father and son.
We’ll laugh. We’ll cry.
We’ll poo. We’ll play.
Really making it Mother’s Day!

(You’re welcome, Mommy!)


Your Little Orange Crush

Mama gonna knock you out, Bitch!

Diva Mom? You be the judge...

Diva Mom? You be the judge…

They say never judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes… But common’, if we never judged others, we’d have nothing to talk about. And, well, this blog wouldn’t exist. And so… we judge (if only for the sake of this blog, of course!).

You see, recently I’ve come to realize that being a stay-at-home mother is not all that different from the corporate world. And by this I mean, there’s the same bullshit politics involved. Only rather than having to deal with the George Costanzas of the world, it now involves Mama Bears and their cubs… much, much more cut throat!

A few weeks ago, I was at the park with my sister-in-law and my nephew (whom I will refer to as iMan). So iMan was patiently waiting to play on the ‘ship wheel’ which was being occupied by a pretty little blonde thing. Fine n’ dandy, right? That is until Blondie realized someone was waiting to get on the wheel…  that’s when she made it clear to us that it was HER wheel, and she would NOT be sharing…

My sister-in-law, being the calm, diplomatic parent she is, said to Blondie that they had to take turns. It was now iMan’s turn, and then it would be her turn again after. Still fine n’ dandy, right? Until…

Blondie turned, put one hand on her hip, the other up in the air… as in “Talk to the Hand”… as in SHUT UP!

Oh… no… she…. didn’t!

Oh… yes… she… did!

So while Blondie continued to boss her way through the sandbox, we’re looking around for Blondie’s mother… Because let’s be honest, Blondie didn’t learn this Diva behaviour on her own. We spot Mommy Dearest… with Chanel glasses (that I want), awesomely killer Louboutin heels, skinny jeans (and man’ did she totally wore them well… Erg!), and talking on her phone… Completely oblivious that I was about to make her Mini-Me eat dirt!

But for iMan’s sake, I kept my mouth shut. It’s all about leading by example, right? Don’t want to teach my nephew that it’s OK to dropkick the skinny bitch Mama AND steal her shoes! In due time, iMan… In due time!!

Well, today I was at the park with my Little Orange Crush. And who do I see? You got it… Blondie! But I figure, my Little Orange Crush is 9 months old, so surely Blondie (who I should mention is about 5 years old) won’t be an issue this time…  WRONG! Apparently Blondie just had to go on the infant wobble seat thingie! Infant!

I was holding my little man on the wobble thing, and Blondie runs over and says “It’s my turn now. Mine. Mine. Get him off!”.

*Play nice, Red Whino… Play nice!*

One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. (I’ll have you know she didn’t even fit IN the seat, she just pushed it while standing). Four minutes…  My patience were wearing thin. After 5 minutes, I told her that she’s had her turn, and it’s now our turn.

Her reply? “It’s mine until I’m done with it!”


My head starts spinning like Emily in The Exorcist… WHERE IS THIS KID’S MOTHER?!?! Oh, look at that! Mommy Dearest is sitting on the bench way over there talking on her phone… Judgy, judgy, cause I’m never EVER on my phone when I parent *cough*. I calmly make my way over and ask if she would mind putting her social life on hold for a minute to discuss her daughter’s attitude problem. Well, not in so many words… I was very diplomatic actually. Really!

Mommy Dearest’s response?  Laughing… “Oh, there’s no point in trying to tell her anything. It’s her castle, and she’s the Princess…”. More laughing… Then back to her call…

Really? I could eat a bowl of Alphaghetties and shit out a better answer than that!

I ask her again – still with my manners intact! She rolls her eyes at me. She’s now annoyed that I’m interrupting her 1-800-IMA-SLUT call!

My mean-girl hamster wheel is starting to spin, and fast! You see once, a very wise man named Norm, from a little show called Cheers, spoke words that I’ve come to live by:  “It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there… and I’m wearing milk bone underwear!” In other words, suck it…

Now I realize Blondie is only a child – a nasty-ass one – but a child nonetheless… But Mommy Dearest? She’s fair game, y’all!

“Awww… You seem to be suffering from a bad case of Total Bitch syndrome. Here, let me prescribe you with a heavy dose of “GET UP AND DO SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR CHILD!”

She ended her call, and wobbled her way over in her kick-ass Louboutins  to rescue her Princess from the big evil Queen!

As I drove home, I regretted my actions. I didn’t feel good about what I’d said to Mommy Dearest… Because sometimes words have no meaning. So what I should have done was punched her in the throat, ripped her Louboutins right off her perfectly-pedicured feet, and then shoved them so far up her *rock solid* ass, giving her a taste of her own daughter’s medicine! MINE! MINE! MINE! Red sole… Red soul!

So moral of the story is that, sure, wearing Chanel sunglasses or Louboutins does not make you a bad mother. But knowingly ignoring your child’s bad behaviour DOES!  And while I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, my judgement of her was spot-on… Bitchy mom!

And while figuratively speaking, I would not want to walk a mile in her shoes…  literally speaking, I wouldn’t mind taking those Louboutins for just a wee stroll! And maybe have her skinny-ass jeans to boot…

Got any nightmare mommy stories? Oh, please do share…

Cheers, Red Whino

Where Cougars PREY… And young boys PRAY!

I’m not one of those women that truly have a personal hang-up or unwillingness to accept the fact that they’re getting decrepitly old. What I do worry about is that I’m at the age where it’s a slippery slope into coming across as the dreaded ‘Cougar’. Dear Gawd, if you see me wearing animal prints and drinking Zinfandel… SHOOT ME!


I mean, I ain’t no spring chicken anymore… That I know! I’ve long accepted that the ‘pre-drinking’ days of throwing on a skin-tight dress only to have young horny men offer to buy me drinks all night are over (I’m now using those dresses as leg warmers). And you ain’t gonna catch me doing Jaeger shots after licking Cool Whip off some strapping young… Oh, Never mind… What I’m trying to say is I’ve matured, OK? But I ain’t no Cougar!

But seriously, lately it takes me twice as long to look half as good. Don’t get me wrong, my palette is still workable… to a paper maché artist maybe, but whatev’.  Gone are the days of ‘Look, but don’t touch’… Replaced with the days of ‘Touch, but don’t look’… or what I like to call marriage!

Then the unthinkable happened to me the other day. I walked by a construction site and it was me who was doing the whistling! Unlike in my 2os, I didn’t turn one head… instead it was my head doing the turning. I tell y’a, I could’ve chipped a tooth on some of those biceps!

 I got home, I did what any self-respecting woman would do… I consulted Cosmo‘s “How to get a guy” Guide. Taking Cosmo‘s advice very seriously, I studied every word of that Guide. Determined to get my own whistle, I went back to the scene of the crime and paced back n’ forth like Kristen Wigg’s drive-by scene in Bridesmaids.

Tip #1: Flirt, smile and laugh A LOT

Apparently this helps put a man at ease making you appear to be more approachable. So I tossed my hair from side to side, threw my head back in laughter, and longingly looked up at them from under my eyelashes. They just looked over at me with fear in their eyes… or was it pity? Hard to tell… It was then that I realized I’d forgotten to pretend to set the scene and make it look like I was talking on my cell. Shit!

Tip #2: Embrace a distinct personal style

This shows that a woman is confident about expressing herself, and not scared to stand out in a crowd. Hell ya, I embrace my own Mom style! I wear my Walmart mommy sneakers like a pair of f@cking Louboutins…  And as if that isn’t sexy enough, the stretched-out, armpit-stained maternity top should really bring them to their knees. Oh, they were on their knees alright… praying to the Heaven’s above for it to STOP!

Tip #3: Don’t look like you’re trying too hard

Ummm *cough* so apparently men are attracted to *cough* “natural women” *cough*. Because fake boobs don’t grab their attention at all, right? Riiiight!!!  Well, no problem boyz! My lady lumps n’ bumps are all natural… every extra inch of them!

Tip #4: Take things slow

Men are turned off when a woman starts talking about marriage and babies on the first date. I strutted my stuff in sloooow motion… Eat your heart out boyz! I even did the Legally Blonde Stop, Drop and Snap movement! And not too worry, this woman is married and I certainly am NOT looking for a second. Not looking for commitment… just a whistle!

So how did I do?

Well, not only did I NOT get a whistle from those young, buff, sweaty constuction boyz… but as I strutted my stuff, they pulled out their rape whistles! Prey/Pray!

So while I’m yet to notice any grey hairs in the nether regions, alas, it’s true, I ain`t no spring chicken.

In any event, I’m aging like a fine boxed wine… and I’m still able to drink like a young champ! Those young construction pups ain’t seen nothing ’til they’ve seen Mama down a couple stiff one.  Erg… that totally made me sound like a true, pure-bred, nasty-ass Cougar, didn’t it? I digress…


Red Whino