Tag Archives: comedy

Sexually “her-ass” my ass, please!

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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.

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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!

Cheers,

Red Whino

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

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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!

Dear Non-Parents…

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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.

Cheers,

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!

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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!

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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…

From Fat to Phat…

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A lot of you have emailed me asking for a post on ‘body after baby’. So body after baby it is…

The first thing that came to mind was: what body? Seriously, in my third trimester it’s like someone put an air-machine up my ass and forgot to turn the bloody thing off! So my Whinos, there is body after baby… there’s just a whole lot of it!

Fat to phat

My Little Orange Crush and I spent the morning at the community pool. As much as he loves it, the Mommy & Me swims have also been a place of solace for me. It makes me feel better being surrounded by other mothers whose bodies have been equally ravaged by pregnancy as mine. Cellulite is like the new black!

We all frolic together. Unified mommas, bulging out of our x-large Walmart bathing suits… without judgement or prejudice. And while I’m sure some of them are secretly relishing the fact that their stomach is just a tad more deflated than the next one, most of us join forces proudly displaying our soft, doughy cauliflower stomachs. Tiger stripes, right? Ugh…

But this week was different. I looked around at my fellow queen-size mommies only to realize that they were looking pretty good. WTF? No one sent me the ‘let’s-get-our-body-back’ memo. Meanwhile, I’ve been frozen in time, justifying my lumps and bumps on the fact that “I just had a baby!”… 8 months ago. But whatev’…

It’s a hard sell now. I get it. Time to pull up my Spanx and get movin’…

But I refuse to embark on one of these trendy bark eating diets. Nibbling on a toilet paper and lettuce sandwich just isn’t my thing.

All that said, your emails have given me the motivation to get movin’. So here’s my pledge to you, my Whinos:

– I promise not to pretend to go for a jog only to hide in the forest with a bottle of tequila, pack of smokes while popping Percocet. You’d be surprised by the size of the mommy sorority that hides out in the forest… Kappa Mamma Phat!

– I promise not to hoard bon bons down my pants. I will eat kale chips… and I will enjoy them, dammit!

– I will have a glass of water in between bottles of wine. A liquid diet of sorts… Plus, Crystal Lite Diaries just doesn’t have the same ring to it, you know?

– I will engage in racial food discrimination, ’cause colour does matter! No more white… Brown only!

– My name is Red Whino and I’m a Chocoholic! First step is admitting to your addiction, right? Next step is finding a sponsor: Oh Henry… Won’t you be my sponsor?

– When I’m grocery shopping and those evil inner voices tell me to take a stroll down the baking aisle, I will yell out with conviction “No. No. I’m not baked”. You guys hear the voices too, right?

– I will take the 30-day Squat Challenge. So if you happen to see me walking around like I have a canoe between my legs, you’ll know why. And no Big J, this is not the kind of squatting you’re thinking of!

– I promise that I will no longer ask Big J to ‘watch the baby’ only to hide in the pantry and shove Ruffles down my throat… with a bottle of wine and a straw.

So there you have it, folks… how I plan on going from fat to phat. Feel free to join me… let’s get our Yummy Mummy on together. We can show up at the pool with our long, lean, mean bods. No running on the deck boys and girls… cause you just might fall and chip a tooth on my rock solid ass!

Jeezuz… may the force be with us!

Cheers,

Red Rhino Whino

I love getting emails from you with requests for future posts. I’m more than happy to oblige. Just don’t ask me to write about quantum physics, investments, or vampires. Otherwise keep em’ comin’…

Monkey see. Monkey say.

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Being the responsible mother I am, I diligently drag my three kids to their swim lessons every week… regardless of the ironic fact that I would like to drown myself in the process. That is until…

I realized the gossip that happens in the change room is good… actually, better than good. Like, highschool-locker room kinda good.  So, after I’ve learned those who are having affairs and polishing off bottles of wine by 9am, and allowing their kids to watch more than 23.4 minutes of screentime a day, I also overhear the “cute” gossip.

Anonymous Mom: Jacob, when you’re finished getting dressed, we’ll go get some lunch. Are you hungry, Honey? Mommy is very hungry.

Totally normal, right? Waaaait for it…

Jacob: Is that why you were eating Daddy’s penis last night, Mommy?

OH-NO-HE-DIDN’T!!!! (Snap! Snap!)

I tried so hard to pretend I didn’t hear. I really did! But I was right next to them. Like, right next to them. I frantically tried to appear too busy to have noticed… diapering then re-diapering, diapering then re-diapering my child’s dry, clean diaper.  But I ain’t no Academy Award winning actress! I couldn’t help but burst into a hyena-like laughter.

Only Anonymous Mom wasn’t really as amused by it all as I was. In fact, she was quickly turning a deep shade of purple. This (for obvious reasons) made me laugh even more. Seriously, this mom could write her own 50 Shades of Embarrassed.

I mean, what do you say in that situation? Seriously?

“Sucks to be you?” Pun TOTALLY intended!

She clearly wasn’t impressed by her son’s unfiltered verbatim. But wouldn’t you just laugh if off? I mean, woman to woman, we can joke about these things, non?

Anyways, she wasn’t having any of it. So I just shrugged and said “Ha! Kids will say the darndest things, eh?”

But it did get me thinking… Big J and I have a little intruders of our own who roam the house at night. So we, as responsible and horny parents, must take the necessary precautions to prevent such run-ins.

But when I told Big J about it, we had different perspectives on how best to handle such a run-in. His thinking was we simply invest in some child-proof door handles. Me? Well, I was thinking it’d be safer if Mama simply goes on a “hunger strike”. I even tried to convince him that it might result in a slimmer, sexier me… Right?

So the question I put forth to you is: how does one keep the fire burnin’ when the little rug rats have descended from the womb?

Cheers, Red Whino

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A toast to my fellow Whinos…

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It’s like Y2K all over again! Only this time I’m not face down in a plate of nachos after having drown myself in a few pitchers of beer… I’m also not stockpiling canned foods in my pantry. I don’t have 18 generator systems on standby. And this time round, if my computer spontaneously combusts, it’s only because I’m a complete tool when it comes to technology.

What am I talking about? This morning my blog hit 20,000 viewers!!! And some of you are even coming back for dirty seconds… and thirds! Oh, I know in the grand bloggin’ scheme of things, this number is peanuts. But to be honest, when I started this blog just over a month ago, I thought my Mama would be my one and only fan… and that’s purely out of obligation! So I’m thrilled, if maybe a little worried… as this proves there are people out there who share my questionable sense of humour.

And while most of you are too shy (or probably just don’t care) to actually sign up as a follower, I get it. I’m your dirty little secret. I’m totally fine being your shame blog. I’ll take whatever action I can get!

All that said, I’d love to hear your thoughts on my blog… Too raunchy? Just about right Anything you’re itching for me to whine about?

Lastly, thank you all for your support. I love writing my blog… if only ’cause it lets me get away from my precious bundles of joy for even an hour. It also gives me an excuse to wine – as if I needed one!

Feel free to share the whine! Tweet me. FaceBook me. Spread me like a cool high school disease. Fear not, my privacy is about as sacred to me as it is to those Kardashians. And ironically my name also happens to start with a ‘K’.

Happy weekend my bloggin’ Whinos!

Cheers,

Red Whino