I know what girls like: 9 Ways to appear more attractive to women

I would be lost without my Flipboard App.

Mostly because then I would have to actually talk to other people instead of looking busy on my phone.

I came across an article the other day that caught my eye, called 17 ways men can appear more attractive to women, published on the Business Insider website.  The article suggests choosing, “someone in your league,” and “wearing a new cologne,” to help attract the ladies.

Since I consider myself to hold a P.H.D in Sociology, Anthropology, Psychology and Cosmetology, I thought I would help a brother out and provide my own list of suggestions to help those with danglers get a P in a V this Valentine’s Day.

Shower. Seriously. 

You would think this would be common knowledge, but unfortunately, I have to put hygiene at the top of my list for ways to appear more attractive to women.

Please, for the love of God, shower at least once or twice a day. Preferably in the morning, before our dates, and after you leave the gym. This is what separates the boys from the men.

Attraction is about pheromones and don’t get me wrong, I love a little bit of man-musk but there’s a difference between “Hot guy with a hint of Irish Spring soap” and
“Hot Guy who I’ll never call again because he smells like aged cheddar.”

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If you REALLY want to make us weak in the knees, how’s about a spritz of cologne for the fancy occasions? Just a spritz. I shouldn’t be able to taste you when you walk by me.

Groom Thyself 

If I have to shave my legs, armpits, bikini area, tweeze my eyebrows, wax my upper lip, and unfortunately pluck a stray chin hair, you sure as shit have to at least match me in the level of grooming.

You think I do all this for fun? No. I do this so that you’ll have sex with me.

All bets are off if if  I get close to you and realize you’ve got one eyebrow, a mustache starting from your nostrils and back hair coming out of your shirt to wave hello to me.

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Quit focusing so much on shaving your man-brambles. Truth be told it’s kind of terrifying if you’re a complete Yeti and then from the waist down your penis has bangs and is looking at me. We don’t really care, because we don’t want to even SEE it. Seriously. A trim will suffice.

I don’t expect you to take off your shirt and all of a sudden be Channing Tatum, but gimme something. Show you care. That’s all I’m asking.

Change your sheets 

Men who do laundry are attractive. Men who voluntarily wash their sheets are husband material. I like to know that if we’re having adult sleepovers, I’m not rolling around in a month’s worth of your dead skin cells, your ejaculated children, or any other bodily fluid that isn’t the direct result of our wrestling match that day.

Change your sheets once a week. Every week. Seriously.

Wear dark wash jeans 

An independent study conducted by me noted that men who wear dark wash jeans are 100% more attractive than those wearing acid wash or classic light blue denim.

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Leave your sneakers at home 

Remember when you were in elementary school and you got a sick new pair of running shoes that you couldn’t wait to wear to school to show your friends? Yeah, well we aren’t in elementary school anymore. Unless we’re at the gym, going for a mild jog, or taking a hip-hop class, put the tennis shoes away. Be a big boy. Diversify your wardrobe.

When women meet a man (if they’re smart) they look for the following:

1. Wedding ring

3. Jeans

4. Shoes

Go home, rent Crazy, Stupid, Love and let Ryan Gosling educate you in the art of style.

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Smile 

Just like men are always saying that a woman with resting bitch face is intimidating, a guy wearing a perma-prick face is a red flag.Smiling is an easy way to say to women, “Hey, I might be a serial killer or I might not, but don’t you wanna find out?”

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Hold a puppy

Works every time.

Talk to me

Ladies, how many times have you been out, locked eyes with a beautiful stranger, and then NOTHING happens?  Story of my life.

I get that making the first move is scary, trust me, I get rejected ALL the time – but 9/10, people are actually, surprisingly nice!

Take a chance and say, “Hello.” We want you to!

 

Put your phone away 

Not only does being on your phone in public give you a double chin, but it signals to women that you’re mentally somewhere else and presumably talking to someone else who has a vagina. Give your undivided attention to whomever you’re with.

Unless that person is really boring. Then go on Instagram and look at kittens.

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Welp, I think I’ve said enough for today. Now I’d like to hear from you!

What do you think a man can do to be more attractive to women?

 

 

 

 

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So you’ve realized you’re an online stalker: Welcome to the club

The Huffington Post recently published an article reminding women everywhere, that the grand romantic gestures that happen in movies, don’t always translate in real life.

The article spells it all out for you in the title, Romantic Comedies Teach Women That Stalking is a Compliment, with writer Chloe Angyal reminding us with ovaries, that unless it’s Ryan Gosling writing you a letter every day for  a year, it’s just f*cking creepy.

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This article assumed I have no concept of reality , which is sort of true, but made me surprisingly introspective of my own stalker-ish behaviors when it comes to dating. Don’t call the police (again), I’m not referring to Fatal Attraction level boil your bunny, “Why Don’t You Love Me,” type stuff. I’m talking about the little things we do online, to learn about and track the people we’re interested in.

When does it go from social media savvy, to stalking?

It’s fairly common to Facebook the object of your desire, or look them up on Instagram. When you meet someone new, and send the initial invitation to connect on social media, the friend request is the virtual acknowledgement of a burgeoning relationship of some kind; romantic, friendly, or other.

What you do next is what separates you from the rest of the pack.

Personally, I’ll admit that I’m an adorable creep.

When I connect with someone on social media, I unleash research skills that should have already peaked the Canadian government’s interest. I can find out where you went to school, where you work, what you like to do and I’ll begin piecing together an idea of your family, your previous relationships and your own level of social media comfort based on the effort you exhibit to cultivate your online image.

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From there, I’ll search tagged photos to see who you socialize with the most versus who comments the most on your photos, rule out that frequent commenter as the friend you only talk to online, find out that your parents are divorced but you’re dad’s re-married to a nice woman named Sheila, Sheila has three kids from a previous relationship, you all seem to get along well and celebrate the holiday’s up North at your cottage, where you once broke your leg skiing .  Of course I won’t admit to any of this and when we hang out casually ask whether or not you’ve ever broken a bone, if you like to ski, or if you have any brothers or sisters. I’ll feign surprise but correct you when you say you broke your leg in 2008.

It was 2007.

If I REALLY like you, I’ll see what events you’re attending and maybe, JUST MAYBE suggest to my friends that we attend, “Just because.”

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If we’re chatting and you all of a sudden don’t respond, but two seconds later like a photo on Instagram, I’ll know you’re avoiding me. I’ll know, and do absolutely nothing about it because I refuse to double text, and instead will just sit here and watch what you’re liking online.

This is creepy, right?

Totally creepy, but slightly adorably because I’m just being extra cautious of stranger danger and vetting a potential match before I invest time and effort into getting to know them. Also, the fact that I have zero muscle tone and am inherently lazy automatically makes me a threat to nobody.

Ok. I exaggerated…slightly.

But what’s more likely to happen: Me doing all of this recon before a coffee date, or a man scaling a Ferris Wheel threatening to kill himself unless I go on a date with him?

Firstly, I’d commend his climbing abilities. It’s rare that people show any kind of initiative anymore. Secondly, the fair only comes to this neck of the woods once a year, so his window of opportunity is incredibly small, but I can online lurk 12 months a year, rain or shine, night or day.

I’m really not this weird.

I swear.

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Happy lurking, Y’all!

Things that make you say, “Nope!” Pt. 2

Today’s post is definitely a direct result of #PeriodProblems that I published on Monday. I’ve passed the threshold of walking with my body at a 45 degree angle to help with cramps and have moved into the, “bitchier and hungrier than usual” phase which will take me through to next week.

Ever see something in the news, on social media and just think, “NOPE!” ?

Me too. All the time.

Here’s what has me shaking my head this week…

People who’ve been married for over a year and are still posting their wedding photos…

NOPE!

The only person who cares to see more photos of your wedding are you and your mom. That’s it. Maybe your Mother-in-Law if she likes you.

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Don’t get me wrong, I love weddings and I follow a shit ton of wedding vendors and photographers on Instagram, but if it’s been 3 years and you’re still putting up a profile pic or a TBT to your wedding like it was yesterday, you’re being judged.

By me, God, and probably everyone at Style Me Pretty.

If you want a nice picture, you’re going to to have to wait for someone else’s wedding and get dressed up and snap a photo like the rest of us. Let it go. Your time is up.

Rob Kardashian’s Snapchat handle @robphuckedme…

NOPE!

Really? Reaaaally. What’s happened to you. What are you doing to yourself. You went from the lovable little brother of the Kardashian fam, to the little brother of a friend who I would be afraid to run into in the kitchen at night during a sleepover.

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Get it together, man. Stop being weird.

You literally have every opportunity to succeed in front of you and instead you’re being someone people report on Tinder.

Guys who complain that they’re, “Too nice to get a girlfriend…”

NOPE!

Instead of riding the pity train with you, I’m going to throw you under it, Anna Karenina.

I spend all day listening to my male coworkers complain that, “Girls only like assholes and nice guys like us finish last.” Wrong. You’re finishing last because you’re thinking you’re morally superior to your male brethren whilst simultaneously being a dick to the girls that are actually interested in you. There’s someone for everyone. You’re not immune to heartbreak just because your Mom said you were a “good boy.” Pull up your big boy pants, take a hard look at yourself in the mirror and go forth into the battlefield with a different mindset.

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If you’re having a hard time figuring out what’s actually wrong with you, come to my cubicle and I’ll tell you.

People who say Grease: Live! was bad…

NOPE!

Grease: Live was fantastic.

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Was it better than the movie? No.

Was it well done for being a television production 38 years after the movie was released? Yes.

We get it, you loved the movie. We all loved the movie. We all loved when John Travolta was hot and possibly straight. You know what I love more? A new generation of kids being introduced to Grease.

Sure, the kids didn’t get to learn that Grease Lightnin’ was a real pussywagon, but still. They’re going to learn the songs and want to watch the movie because they thought the live production was cool shit.

So you have two options: Either singalong or bite the weenie, Rizz!

 

 

 

 

 

 

#PeriodProblems: Reasons I’m crying

There are some people who are grossed out when I talk about menstruation. Those people usually have penises. It’s not that I think the female reproductive system is a beautiful thing, I’m really just  looking for any and every opportunity to commiserate with my fellow egg baskets over our monthly massacres.

This morning I woke up with a week early monthly guest and a horrible nosebleed. I just tilted my head back, looked to the heavens and let everything just flow south. The only plus side to this unexpected horror, was that my best friend and I have synched our cycles, which I’m hoping means we can FINALLY fight crime and make others shed blood instead of shedding our own.

The whole thing seems very Wiccan to me. I kind of dig it.

Until then, I’ll be sitting in pajama pants, clutching my pooch, waiting the week out so I can stop crying randomly at anything and everything.

What makes me cry during my period?

Day 1: Getting my period

*Tears of Joy*

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Day 2: Catching a glimpse of my bloated self in the mirror and wondering, “Hmm, this is what I would look like at 4 months pregnant.” Then hyperventilating because you can’t imagine yourself ever being ready for motherhood

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Day 2: Afternoon

Crying because you’re worried, that if you ultimately do want kids, what if you later discover you’re infertile, and then you’ve just got your period to waste tampons and good underpants on a monthly reminder of what you can’t have.

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Day 2: Evening

Crying because you’ll get to adopt a kid and keep shit right down there.

*Tears of joy*

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Day 3: Watching old Hollywood movies and crying because everyone in the movie is probably dead

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Day 4: Checking online dating profiles and crying because you’re online dating

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Day 4: 10 mins later

Crying because you’re worried nobody will love the guys you’re swiping left to. SOMEONE SHOULD LOVE THEM!

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(Just not me. Never me)

Day 5: Seeing an old person take their dog on a walk. The dog’s wearing a coat and little booties.

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Day 6: Adele.

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Day 7:

Happily skipping out the door without a feminine product only to find that your body is a traitor and released a last wave of assault to remind you that you should never, ever, think you understand your body.

(Oh yes, Girls. Some of us are full week-ers)

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Day 8: PTSD

You only have 21 days before you have to relive the carnage.

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Brb. Gotta go eat some cookies.

 

 

2016 So far: Where I was when I wasn’t here

Happy 2016!

I’m a little late to the party, but I took a much needed break from blogging. Blogmas was a son-of-a-bitch. Seriously. Blogging every single day?

For free?

I dislike doing anything for free. I literally look for incentives in everything I do. My friends know this and have Diet Pepsi chilling in their fridge whenever I come over, because they know how much I loathe pants and would much rather be sleeping than run a brush through my hair and interact with people.

Anyways, I overdid it with the blog posts and fell out of love with the WordPress world, but I’m refreshed, have some new stories and am ready to get back to embarrassing my mother with my posts.

I’ve been quite the little gypsy this month, spending most of my time in a train, plane or automobile travelling for work and pleasure. I’ve been going non-stop, have barely had time to cuddle my cat (which you know upsets me tremendously), but things are FINALLY slowing down, and I’ll be able to reconnect with you good people of the internet, and of course myself… and my cat.

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Here’s what you should know right now…

I think I must have had a spiritual stroke, or been touched by the Holy Ghost because I’ve legit become like a walking Pinterest inspiration board. I’ve caught myself saying shit like, “It’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all” and “Everything happens for a reason,” and “I’m open to the possibilities of love.”

I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I was hoping that if I ever had some kind of medical issue it would be the fun strokes where you wake up with like, a Pakistani accent but you’re still a white girl from the suburbs. I never thought I would become this monster who can self soothe and rationalize with Christian Broadcast television-like values. It’s quite disturbing, and yet, healthy? I don’t know. I haven’t had a session with my therapist in almost two months, so this is either a huge breakthrough or the calm before a storm and I’m going to be shaving my head and attacking cars with umbrellas in a hot minute.

I’m still single. YAS, Queen. Single and accepting it, thank you very much!

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It’s really not that bad. I’ve only cried twice this month, and both times were right before a cycle started so, I consider that progress.

I’m still living a carb-centric lifestyle, but I’ve been using the My Fitness Pal app to guilt me into healthier choices. I’m basic, but trying to get healthy because it’s a new year is just TOO basic. I’ll get healthy, in like, March – when my first wedding of the year is a month away and I need to shove myself into a dress. I’ve been receiving Save the Date cards in the mail and have already begun financially planning for wedding season. I’ve decided that this year, instead of being thrifty and recycling dresses, I’m just going to go balls to the wall and use every event as an excuse for a fashion show and a new profile pic.

Other than that, I’m essentially just living for Monday nights when I can watch the Bachelor with my girlfriends, have been on some serious Netflix binges because it’s too cold to do anything else, and I’ve been planning new adventures for 2016 because it’s cold as fuck and I need an Eat, Pray , Love STAT.

 

That’s really it for me, kids.

What about you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve missed you, please love me!

I’ve missed you terribly.

I’m coming back. After Blogmas nearly fried my brain with daily posts, I decided to treat myself to a nice little break this month.

I tried the whole, “Live your life! Disconnect with technology! Live like it’s 1993!”

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Yeah…

It didn’t really work out.

Did you think I would miss an opportunity to talk shit about Valentines Day and the opposite sex?

Heck no. I’ve just been gathering new material.

I’ll be back February 1st with even more oversharing.

Shit’s going to get real.

xoxoxo

A Modern Retelling of the Christmas Story Part 2: It’s a Boy!

We left off the Modern Retelling of the Christmas Story with Mary, a simple lass from Nazareth knocked up and unmarried.  Instead of  the village mistaking her as a harlot and stoning her  in the middle of the street, God sent an angel to her betrothed,  Joseph, and convinced him to raise the Son of God, as his own. A tough sell, considering cloth diapers ain’t cheap and God wasn’t volunteering child support (only spiritual support).

I invite you now to join me in the second part of the Christmas Story!

Back in those biblical days, it was required that every person in the Roman world register as part of a census issued by Caesar Augustus. Mary being the unmarried preggo accompanied Joseph on the long trek to Bethlehem to register in his hometown.

First of all, if anyone even asked me to get up from the couch when I was 9 months pregnant, I would lose my shit . Hell, I get angry when someone tells me to get up and I’m like -50 months pregnant, but Mary had to buck up, and take one for the team, spread ’em on a donkey and let the Son of God cook a little longer.

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When they arrived in Bethlehem, Joseph being a typical male, forgot to make reservations at whatever the equivalent of a Best Western or Ramada would be in those times.

Mary, having dilated a considerable amount from sitting on a f*cking donkey for days, said to Joseph, “I’m going to use the Pregnant by God card, and tell you that you have two minutes to get me to a doctor or a hotel, or I will have this baby right here and when he’s born he will smote you and damn you to the burning fires of Hell.”

Joseph looked in the distance and saw an inn and loudly knocked on the door.  When the innkeeper answered, Joseph said to him, “My wife…well, not my wife. It’s a long story, I guess you could say fiancé but we’re in a weird spot right now.  I like her but, it’s just off to a rocky start, you know? Anyways, she’s about to have a baby – not my baby, God’s baby. At least I think it’s God’s baby…We don’t have anywhere to stay and I’m afraid of hell fire. ”

 

The innkeeper, who’s obviously seen some crazy shit in his time, interrupted Joseph’s ramblings. “Whatever man, there’s a barn out back you can crash in. Just don’t break anything and no wild parties.”

In the stable, Mary was spared by God and gave birth to a boy after only two minutes of pushing and minimal vaginal tearing. She swaddled the baby in newborn clothes and fed the placenta to the animals to keep them calm.

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Meanwhile, in a field an angel appeared to some shepherds tending to their flock.  “Hey girl hey!” The angel exclaimed. “A baby was born tonight and he is the Son of God! Go see for yourself, and rejoice!  I put a star up in the sky, so you don’t get lost. I have to go,  k bye!”

The shepherds went into Bethlehem and saw the baby asleep in the manger. They went around the town sharing the good news of the Messiah’s birth.

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Three magi, or wise men as us peasants call them, were travelling from the east and saw the star in the sky. They followed the star, which was prophesied to be the signal that the King of the Jews was born. When they got to Bethlehem, they happened upon the stable and said to Mary and Joseph, “This is awkward, but did you by any chance birth the Son of God? The Messiah? The Saviour?”

Joseph, excited that someone finally got what was going on, welcomed the three men into the stable, where they fell to their knees and worshiped the baby.

“We brought hostess gifts!” Said one of the men and presented the new mother with gold, frankincense and myrrh.

Mary, exhausted, and hormonal, shouted, “What the f*ck am I going to do with myrrh?

And then 8 days later, the baby was circumcised and he was formally named Jesus (seriously, that’s in the Bible).

The rest as they say, is history!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blogmas Day 22: The Littles are waiting for Santa!

Today I thought I would share photos of my nieces who are all ready for Christmas!

Also, I have a wedding to attend tonight and will be spending the next several hours preparing like I’m going to the Oscars.

My friends Marie and Nathan have a blog, called Lola Evie Lovethat follows the adventures of their young family in our city. They’ve posted some photos of the girls trimming the Christmas tree that are too precious not to share.

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Evie Winter’s First Christmas – Photo by Nathan Nash

Click here for more cuteness!

Blogmas Day 21: Mingle like Kringle

Happy Monday!

This weekend was fun-filled and unproductive, just the way I like it. With only three days until Christmas Eve, I would like to report that I have yet to buy a single Christmas present. Normally, I would be reaching for some Ativan and gift cards, but this year, I’m just being easy breezy. I had every intention of shopping but… holiday parties knocked me on my butt for most of Sunday.

On Friday night, we, the people, celebrated my dear friend Mattie Lou’s 28th birthday. We headed out to a restaurant in Burlington that features “Dueling Pianos” every Friday and Saturday night. All this means is that twice a week, people who look like our parents put on their best glitter tops and boot-cut jeans to get liquored up and dance to live music.

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With the Birthday Girl & Beck! 

It just so happens, that watching middle aged people dance is one of my favourite things of all time. The ol’ tap n’ snap was alive and well that night.  I sat, judged, and stuffed my face with naan and guacamole. It was heaven.

I went to lunch on Saturday and actually made it into a mall, but left with a present for myself. I then spent the rest of the day marathon-ing episodes of New Girl and getting ready for my night of pups and parties. There was a three hour window where I had to drop by my cousin’s house and let out her dog, go to the liquor store and buy hostess presents, visit my friend Sarah at her new house and then pick up my girlfriends for our friend’s annual Christmas bash.

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When your cousin messages you to say, “How’s everything?” You send her a photo of pure friendship. 

I should have known the night was going to be a disaster as soon as the lady at the LCBO didn’t ask to see my ID. Devastated is an understatement.

By the time I made it to Sarah’s new house (and oh-em-gee, what a house!) I was already getting messages from my friends that they weren’t able to make it to the party. I’m not just talking 1 or 2 friends, I’m talking 5 people bailing at the last minute for various and valid reasons.

I had my extensions in.

I had false eye lashes on.

I contoured my damn nose.

I was sure as shit going to the party.

Kids (Over 19 in Canada and 21 in the United States) : When going to a social gathering where you don’t know many people besides the host and a few others, the best way to make friends is to drink and keep drinking, until those social boundaries just float away and you’re all of a sudden best friends with everyone.

The next day, I woke up to a gentle reminder that I am in fact, not 19 anymore and that She-Devil at the LCBO was correct not to card me. I’m old enough to get pregnant and have people congratulate me. That’s f*cking terrifying. I should know better.

The best remedy for a hangover is always laying in the shower in the fetal position, a cheese sandwich, and relaxing. I spent the rest of my Sunday with the only people who are willing to baby me: My grandparents.

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Little Tonino and Mary 

I normally burst into tears when I visit my grandparents at their retirement home because I’m worried nobody else has a family, but this time, whether it was my newly damaged liver or my emotional maturity, I managed to enjoy myself and have dinner with my little Italians.

A word of warning: If you thought high school was bad, wait until you’re in a retirement home. There’s more shit talking, sass and cliques than Mean Girls and Heather’s combined. There needs to be a reality show called Real Widows of Hamilton, or something, because these broads know how to put on a show.

 

I need a weekend from my weekend and a 12 step program.

What did you get up to?  Tell me I’m not the only one who got too turnt for Jesus.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blogmas Day 18: When the dog bites, when the bee stings…

When I’m feeling sad, I simply remember my favourite things and then I don’t feel… SOOOO  baaaaad!

Ah… You’re going to have that song in your head all day now. You’re welcome.

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The Sound of Music. I have no idea why I associate this movie with Christmas, but I do… it must be the mountains…or the nuns. Definitely the nuns.  Anyways! I came across this Christmas tag and thought it would be a cute little way to kick off this weekend. I’m going to be running around like a maniac, but I’ll be sure to tell you all about it on Monday!

What are your Favourite Christmas colors?

Truth time. I’m a Red/Green/Gold kind of girl. Strictly the classics. Anyone who uses blue at Christmas can GTFO.  I’m kind of convinced I have some form of synesthesia, because there are certain colours that make me physically sick or angry and blue is one of them.

Blue decorations? Blue and silver? Pukes.

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PJ’s or fancy dress of Christmas day?

Answer: Fancy PJ’s. Ever since puberty I’ve had to wear the nice jammier-jams and a bra, because Christmas morning, you never know who could show up early and you don’t want to be national geographic with your nips frowning at your family while you’re opening presents.

Presents on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?

Christmas morning. Now, it’s more like mid to late morning. If it were up to me it would be Christmas afternoon.

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Stay home or go away? Stay home.

I’ve never been away for Christmas, but I wouldn’t rule it out! I like the routine of visiting family on the holidays. Unfortunately, aging relatives and family members not on speaking terms is complicating the issue, but my Christmas Eve and Christmas Day should be booked with nieces and my li’l oldies from morning to night!

Favourite part of the Christmas meal?

The part where I get to leave the dishes on the table and go lay like a blob in front of the TV.

Favourite Holiday treat?

Sugar cookies. Specifically, sugar cookie dough.

Dream Christmas Location?

I would love to spend Christmas in London and recite Love, Actually quotes to strangers and have them be all, “F*cking Americans.” Alternatively, I think Christmas in a tropical location would be delightful. Nothing says Merry Christmas like sand in your crevices!

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Pro-present wrapper?

Everyone gets bags.

Favourite Reindeer?

Prancer!

Favourite Cracker Toy?

Any jewelry. It’s my version of getting engaged on Christmas.

Favourite Christmas Decoration?

I love my Peter Pan ornament. Gotta love Peter.

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Can you name all of the Reindeer?

Dasher, Dancer, Donner, Prancer, Blitzen, Cupid, Comet …um.. Hank? Sally Anne?

Weirdest gift you ever got?

Nani, My Italian grandmother, used to gift us grand kids angel figurines every year, and one year her eye sight was so poor she bought me  a figurine meant for a loved one who has died, and I thought she was telling me something and burst into tears. Christmas, RUINED.

Favourite Christmas Memory?

Baking sugar cookies with my Nani. I can’t cook or bake to save my life, but every year I put on my apron and baked with her. Love that old broad, even though she heckles my skills.

Favourite Christmas Carol?

Any version of Baby, It’s Cold Outside makes me immeasurably happy. Also, any version of O! Holy Night, will put the fear of God in me and take me from 0 to Catholic, real quick.

Favourite Christmas Movie?

Home Alone, forever. Never Home Alone 2. NEVER.
Special shout out to It’s A Wonderful Life and Little Women. Beth dying just gets me feeling festive.