Monday Moment Brought To You By Vodka

So seeing that this last weekend I had where I managed to lose two pairs of shoes, my car (don’t worry I don’t drink and drive), my keys, my phone, and possibly a bit of dignity (all of which were recovered on Sunday), here’s a good ol’ post of another time that I drank copious amounts of alcohol to entertain not I, but you.. If you don’t enjoy it, it’s probably because you did something similar and aren’t quite ready to accept the fact that it’s most likely to happen again.

Once upon a time, I was a young pup that enjoyed the clubs on a Friday and Saturday over bonfires and BBQ’s. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not OLD…I just have a few different priorities when it comes to how I spend my time drinking.  So this fun little night, my sister and I went out to do some dancing and drinking. This turned into this shithead (oh that’s me..on the left) turning just a little classy to trashy in my lovely off white dress and heels and figured it was time to grab a cab home.941977_10152875453110375_134957647_n

As we’re leaving, my sister gets caught up with someone in the club so I thought it best to wait outside for her, when BAM! Smokie stand. That smelllllll. Ok. I have $5.00.  Smokie is about to be in and around my mouth. Happening. So after paying for this fucking thing, I pull off a good ol’ standing stumble and I watch as this smokie slides out of the bun and rolls onto main street. Downtown Winnipeg. Uh…ew right..(not at the time it wasn’t). The lack of sanitariness that comes in the next sentence or two is around a 2 out of 10.  My dilemma:  No more money and now no more smokie. But..I’m a fan of problem solving and a 5 second rule that can turn into 10. So I picked that mother fucker up, blew on it to get the cocaine and cigarette dust off it, slapped a shit ton of mayo and onions on it and I was fucking golden.

My lovely sister is looking for me but I’m tucked away in a corner probably looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame fully invested in devouring this thing, and I spot her talking to the cops. (HOORAY!!!) So I walk over, lean on one of the uniformed men to prevent myself from falling, and ask him if he wants a bite. He politely declined, so naturally, I polished the rest off. They were making good natured banter until I thought it best to relieve myself of the question/educated guess burning up in my brain: one of these crime fighters’ ethnicity. I was wrong on the hypothesis. He was mad. Was that the Italian in him? Honestly not quite sure but asking him that wasn’t the best idea either (bit of a racist crime fighter if I might add). He told us to get a fucking cab. The other cop was doubled over laughing. We got a cab, as I didn’t need a drunk tank when I have a perfectly made up bed to go home to. I waved goodbye, and received one wave back, and I took it as a ‘you win some, you lose some’ type deal.

I could go on with impromptu tambourine playing for a band (not just me out of my friends that do this), launching a birthday cake at a garage wall (missed the target of a friend who covered my face in icing), waking up on my bed hiding underneath a newspaper tent, running up on stage at a Hayes Carll concert, or drinking champagne at 7 am on a highway to celebrate life. But I don’t need people thinking I have no pride. So when you wake up on a Sunday, ashamed of your activities from the night(s) before, just remember, we’ve all been there. If it’s too upsetting, make friends with people that drink so much they could kill a hypothetical small child. Everyone will forget about your poor life choices in about a week. Maybe less. Thirsty Thursday is around the corner.

Cheers,

Wednesday Woman Crushes

Oh look it’s a hypothetical Wednesday. Know what that means? Woman crushes (can’t wait for Monday).

So this is more of a mere observation into this because I can’t understand it.  Why do so many women who post #womancrushwednesdays choose some gorgeous female that is literally a spitting image of themselves? Am I the only one that comes across this time and time again? I even see males do it! They pick a woman that has similar features to themselves, smack a caption #wcw #sohot #dreamgirl and know that if they reincarnate into a female he’d be a spittin’ image of her.  Fucking odd, right?

Maybe women do this for man crush Mondays as well but I have to say that I’m too focused on all of the Charlie Hunnam and Ryan Gosling photos to take notice.  However, I do know that I would look nothing like a male Harvey Specter so ladies, you’re genuinely welcome on Monday from yours truly.

Is this some psychological phenomenon?  Or..are some of us constantly looking for approval?  Do we want people to point out the fact that yes, you indeed, look like this actress-should be a model-who fucking cares-you guys are both fucking gorgeous anyway? I don’t know.  What I do know, is that I suppose you love yourself. Nothing bad comes from that.  Everyone likes a pretty face, including yours. And you wouldn’t just  go around posting a selfie and naming yourself a woman crush Wednesday…because people might find that conceited, right? So is this a loophole? People – I’ve seriously been losing sleep over this. Getting fucking bitchy. No resting bitch face though I promise (cross my heart-cook you bacon).

And maybe this is some coincidence-don’t think I’m crazy-it’s just that I’m a woman-my mind runs through one hundred thoughts a second. Opinions?

Ladies, don’t worry. I just want some sleep, and I love you. All of you.

Cheers to sleeping pills.

The Resting Bitch Face

You’re walking down the hall in school, or in the grocery store with your cart looking for the icing sugar, waiting in line to pay for your gas, or even going for your evening stroll with your pup.. and you SPOT it. RESTING BITCH FACE at 12:00. Immediate reaction is you need to help them to wipe that nastiness off their face. You need to help them. So you…(drum roll, please), SMILE!

Woah. Knew you didn’t see that coming. Or was that too obvious?

Problem solved and we can go on with our day, right? FUCK NO. Why? Resting bitch-face is still there. What. The. Fuck. What the fuck do I do now? I just passed them in the aisle, or the hallway, or the sidewalk, but now my OCD is telling me to meet them again to give them a second chance. I mean they must feel bad because I looked like a nice, genuine person that tried to let that tension on their face loosen up. OK. Next time I pass them at the water cooler, or in the hall (Ok I think we get the point now) I’m gunna smile, but more obvious. And lonnnger.

Here we go.. (SMILLLLEEEEEs).

NOTHING! AGAIN! And then I try a third time.. and now they probably just think I’m a fucking crazy psycho who is working really hard at her anger management homework…which is debatable.

Tip to resting bitch face users:

Don’t let my crazy fucking psycho smile appear. EVER. Because it will. I give people like 10 chances to make up for their “mistake-then-turned-just-fucking-rude” face. But then after that, I deliver a ‘sadistic-spawn-of-satan-with-piercing-fucking-eyes-face’ that will blow your bitch face out of the water! Trust me, it’s worse than Jaxx Teller on a rampage.  And all because you couldn’t have some common decency to stop looking for two seconds like someone went and poured your vodka down the sink.

Smiling is contagious, but so is resting bitch face. I have both. And I use it to what suits the person. Let’s be kind, and if you’re not, there are people out there that will rewind. And try it again. Help those people. Don’t be a bitch, because there is a difference between having resting bitch face and actually being one. Once you are aware you have this elusive ‘dormant asshole look,’ and you care about being kind, just give a smile for a smile, and an eye for an eye. Or I might go Sally Field on your ass.

Cheers and smiles,

Good Golly, Miss Molly

You might not listen to Little Richard the same after this so, fair warning.

Reasons why some of us, in fact, do not need men and more specifically, a relationship. Of course we might WANT one, but we don’t need them. If any men get offended (I don’t know that any of them read this anyway). Please know that we still love you, but this is for those beautiful, independent and possibly single ladies (cheers to you). Below are my opinions of why not needing them around is just fine with us.

Sex. Sex is grand. I think we’ve established that by now on here though. But technically, we can have sex with women, men, and our lovely adult collection of toys. For reasons none other than for this post I will stick with talking about men. My Molly (adult toy) as I like to call her (It’s Molly because she’s sweet, caring, and tends to my needs) – you wouldn’t go around naming it Brutus – that would just not be pleasant and would make the whole experience seem less effective. Ok so Molly. She’s also grand. And after the first time I used her, I have to say that I’ve been popping Molly’s as much as I want. I don’t fight with her, and she never talks back. She does NOT break the bank, aside from the odd battery run. She also provides a guaranteed orgasm. This can be difficult with men.

Good girlfriends. Specifically, find one that knows how to change a tire. Stay friends with them. Buy them vodka and bake them cupcakes to maintain that ‘I help you, you help me’ vibe. If you’re frugal, though, learn to change it yourself.

cupcakes Google. It can tell you what’s wrong with your car, your sink, your phone, your leaky faucet, etc. Men might be able to tell you, but Google can say it better. I will also just add that you should forgive the Google when you realize you’re dying in your hypochondriac state after looking up symptoms of a headache. Same goes for medical books. This is a little off topic but don’t give them to your children, and don’t think it’s a good idea to look at them for yourself either. I was 12 when I decided to diagnose myself on one of those quizzes and after going through it – I called my mother to inform her of my impeding death from stage 4 stomach cancer. I told her she needed to come home. She laughed. She did not come home. However, stomach flu lasting for more than a week can be a bit of an asshole move and frankly, mixed with your self diagnosis – proves to be a shitty experience.

Alcohol. I know you already called this. Nothing says love in a bottle better than wine. A man cannot make you dance well, or give you the courage to try (neither can vodka though, just FYI). He can’t give you a great sleep after hanging out, and unlike men, alcohol is available on a guaranteed basis between the hours of 11 am – 11 pm Monday to Saturday, and 12 pm – 6 pm Sunday. Alcohol allows you to make the plans – it’s very sensitive to your needs and understands that it is men that drove you to drink, anyway. They will not judge you. They just help you in the one way they can.

WinePets. They will arguably love you more. And they will be happier to see you when you come home after a long and hard days’ work. They won’t judge you for the shot of vodka you’re about to take, nor the fifth one if that’s how many idiots you encountered today (see my two-step program). They just want to cuddle and play and love you until they go to bed. For reasons of not wanting to come off more crazy, I am holding off on buying cats. Few years though, I’ll be off my rocker and there will be 10 of them sitting on it.

photo 2Banter aside, don’t get me wrong, men can be ok sometimes. And hey, if he doesn’t turn into a jackhammer when he gets into your bed..er..pants, knows how to cook, brings you wine, then maybe he isn’t so bad. Keep him for a while. See how it goes. But according to one of my bestest bitches, if he talks to his mother every day for more than an hour? RUN. It doesn’t even matter if he fits well in the crotch. Just fucking RUN.

Have to jet – turns out I have a date. Her name is Molly (good fucking golly). And I suggest you do the same! Afterwards, vodka and cupcakes, your tire has a nail in it.

Cheers,

Phones, Social Media, and Self Absorbed Twats.

And if the Sound of Music could say it – these are a few of my (un)favorite things. And now I don’t feeeel sooo bad!

1. Your body is a temple. I get it. And you look great, you really do. But no one needs to see your temple every time you pick up a dumbbell! I’d bet you’re the only one who notices your week to week progress. Your deltoid hasn’t changed much from Friday to Monday. And is there any part of you that feels weird when other people are looking at you while you flex into the mirror with that self-involved smile? I would. Shit, those people already know the hashtags you’re going to use. But you probably assume they’re just jealous. Maybe they are. But maybe they just think you’re acting like a douche.

http://postgradproblems.com/instagram-and-the-female-douchebag/

This guy explains this much better than I ever could.

2. Selfies. In plural. All the time. It’s Instagram, not Instaselfie. You can take them (I do when I feel pretty!) but let’s not let it take over your life. Set up a schedule – limit yourself to one selfie a week. Give the rest of us a break from them. Got it? K thanks.

3. Girls not getting along with other girls. I’ve said this before but it deserves a second mention. Bitch, you have no friends. Try getting along with humans. We’re not that bad.

4. Bath tub pics. Why? With the perfectly placed candles, your newly polished toes, and a glass of wine in hand. You didn’t hop in there to relax, you did it to post your fucking photo. And rub a dub dub – why the fuck is your phone in the tub?! With too much wine you might just drop it and that photo now cost you $700. I’m trying to help you here. I would never want you to rack up a bill like that. Unless you’re guilty of #2 (above – I’m not actually talking about poop, silly).

5. Phone addicts. I’ve been guilty for this in the past but can see now the error in my ways. There is nothing worse than getting together with your friends OR family (if you’re lucky enough they could be both) with your head at a downward 45 degree angle, scrolling through your twitter to keep up with the latest tweets of Zac Efron (self-reminder, Leanna). You don’t see these people that are in the same room as you all the time! Say hi to them. Ask them how their day is. Find out what’s happening in their life.  It might give you something to post about later. Some of your family don’t even own phones! Imagine how boring that would be for them to watch you scroll. So do it on your own time.

6. And finally, to end on a positive, I’ll just mention..you guessed it – food pics. These, no matter how much someone tells you they’re not, are 100% OK TO POST. There are people like me in this world that DO want to see what you’re eating. That’s me. I fucking love food. I fucking love drinks. You slap on an X-Pro II filter and BAM. It doesn’t have to be a milkshake – it can be bacon. Or mac and cheese for the beginner chefs – it’ll still bring all the boys to the yard. Now go grab yourself a glass of wine, take a damn photo of it if you want and enjoy your day! I will now that I got this off my chest. I’m going to go check my yard for boys, now.

Two Step Program

Leanna’s Two Step Program for Dealing with Idiots

This actually works EVERY time.  It’s only Tuesday and yet I feel this program needs to be implemented tonight. WHO’S WITH ME?!

1. Shot of Vodka
2. If above does not work, continue repeating Step 1.

Cheers,

Negative Body Image. It’s Got to Go.

photo 1

It is…Monday morning, and you say ‘fuck off’ to your phone alarm (which by the way sounds AWFUL to wake up to – you need to change it) and wait for your second, third, and fourth alarm to go off to give you an extra 20 min of rest which probably won’t make you any more ready to take on the day. Your morning routine has some tweaking to do.

Recap: You had some appetizers with some co-workers Friday night, followed by a girls wine and cheese night Saturday. Sunday you got back into your nice habit of healthy eating. Not too shabby, right?

Apparently not.

You get up out of bed, are hungry and half-assed ready to take on the world and then you look in the mirror and point out 5 things that piss you right off about your lady lumps and make you want to call in sick in order to work out for like…8 hours. But you can’t…so instead you vow that you’re never eating again. For real. And now you’re pissy and throwing negative vibes all over the place.

9AM rolls around at work, and you’ve forgotten all about your vow that you made earlier (thank god you didn’t put a ring on it). And…you eat. Feel guilty…eat…guilty…eat…fucking guilty…etc, etc.

So I’m here to tell you and your stupid ass brain to tell your eyes and head to get their SHIT straight! As if we don’t have enough problems in our life! Your monthly mother nature bullshit gives you a headache, back ache, cramps, bitchy mood that you’ll never admit to having, and more (I think I skipped the most obvious here ” . “). You have bad hair days, and those days where you have to deal with your sexual counterparts (don’t even get me started). Then there’s that lingering feeling of paranoia after some hot sex that if something happened with those little sperm swimmers, you might land yourself with being sober for 9 months (holy…FUCK). Furthermore, the only way you’ll enjoy another glass of wine is by pushing an average 7-8 pound baby out of your vagina. Somehow this turned into a sex-ed blog (birth control and condoms if you love your wine as much as I do, ladies).

Anyways, being a woman is hard. Why are we making it harder on ourselves?

Wake up in the morning, and EMBRACE your beauty. Don’t aspire to look a certain way, aspire to be happy! Aspire to be healthy. Yes, you can have dessert, or choose to pass. Who the fuck cares? We need to stop focusing on negative vibes, and start being healthy. Healthy brain, healthy heart, healthy life. Surround yourself with people who are a positive influence on your soul. No one in your life should make you feel bad about yourself, be it on the inside or out. If they aren’t there for you, then drop them. Seriously, like a sac of potatoes.

You wouldn’t see Hayden Panettiere aiming to have legs like Tara Banks. Nor would you see Natalie Portman hoping for Scarlet Johanson’s boobs. Or butt. And personally, I wouldn’t want to have Miley Cirus’ tongue, with it whipping all over the place like it ain’t no thang. BUT – these women are all ridiculously beautiful. And so are you. So tomorrow morning, and every morning after that – wake up, and tell yourself three things you love about yourself when you stand in your mirror. And by god, go eat some breakfast. Because 9 am will hate you otherwise, and you can’t drop 9AM like a sac of potatoes. It will drop you.

The Bacon Bandaid

The Bacon Bandaid

That’s right. Bacon heals all. Makes us whole again. The broken become one… Bacon.

The bacon phenomenon has evolved from being cooked in a pan every Sunday by your dad who refused to put on a shirt to avoid grease burns on his torso – to being cooked in the oven, or thrown into a cheesy-mayo-bacon trifecta and calling it a dip. You can also wrap up just about everything under the sun with it, like mushrooms, jalapenos, asparagus, chicken, pork chops, steak! …STEAKKK.. just to name a few.

Your kid doesn’t like eating something? Wrap it in bacon! But don’t let them peel the smoky, salty goodness off and just eat that. Cause that’s what I’d do, and most times, children are smarter than me – they’re bound to figure this out.

Your fussy ass husband won’t eat the chicken you made because he wants REAL meat? Wrap that fucking chicken in bacon and he won’t complain again. If this isn’t your style you could also just whip the chicken at him and tell him to cook for himself. KIDDING. Sort of. Better yet, wrap HIM up in bacon and then eat the chicken yourself! You won’t be mad at him anymore and technically, you just made yourself a bacon dessert. With sex. Sex and bacon? You just walked through the pearly gates.

And with that…here is one of my all-time favorite recipes. If you can’t figure out what the first ingredient is by now, then you best go home and grab yourself a stiff drink. With a bacon skewer in it.

 Bacon Wrapped and  Gouda Stuffed Pork Chops
Bacon Wrapped and Gouda Stuffed
Adapted from:
What you need:
  • slices bacon per pork chop, cooked about 5 min.  (makes this easy to wrap)
  • 4-6 boneless pork chops
  • 4-5 ounces smoked Gouda cheese,  cut into small cubes
  • 1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley. If you don’t have fresh…spice rack will do.
  • salt and pepper to taste, or as desired. Or not at all. Whatever floats your taste buds’ boat.

Instructions

  1. First off, pour yourself a Kronenbourg Blanc, cheers to your wonderful cooking abilites. Drink as desired.
  2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees
  3. Cut thawed pork chops lengthwise to form a ‘pocket’ in each. Leave each edge intact. Fill pork chops with the cubed cheese.
  4. Wrap two – three slices of bacon around each pork chop and secure with tooth picks horizontally.
  5. Lay in a small casserole dish – cheese facing upright. Sprinkle with parsley.
  6. Bake for one hour in preheated oven
  7. Don’t share these with anyone else if you can’t eat them all in one sitting.

Cheers,

 

Basil, Bacon and Apricot Brie-anna

To view this awesome recipe and more..go to

http://www.yourhomebasedmom.com/basil-bacon-peach-baked-brie/

This is the best way to eat your brie.  Hands down… now hands up…high five. Whatever.  Here is my inspired recipe below

brie

WHAT YOU NEED:

  • One thing of Brie (smaller one..it needs to wrap in the dough)
  • Pilsbury ‘Country Biscuits’ dough
  • Some cooked bacon…a few pieces (I know you’ll eat half the package after it’s cooked anyway)
  • Fresh basil..a few pieces. If your local market don’t have it, grab it from your spice rack.
  • Apricot jam

INSTRUCTIONS

First off, pour a glass of wine, cheers to your wonderful cooking abilities. Drink as desired.

Second, open the dough up, mush it all together and use a rolling pin to flatten out (might need some flour to throw down in case it’s too sticky). It should be big enough so you can wrap the brie up so..use your own discretion. I know you’re smart 😉

Place the brie in the middle of the dough and top with Apricot Jam, your crumpled bacon, and some basil. If the basil is pissed off and doesn’t want to go on last, put it on there first, then. Just get it all on there!

Now cover the brie with the dough and pinch the top so it stays together.

Use some egg wash on the top and it’s ready to become beautiful.

Throw in the oven (not too hard though), and let it cook at 375 for about 20 minutes.  When you see the top browned you should be A-ok to pull out! (STOP drooling).  If the brie starts leaking out somehow, it’s safe to say you fucked up. Or you had too much wine. I said a GLASS..not a bottle! Kidding. What is ‘too much’ wine?

Cheers

Thee Insult.

One of 2013’s most underrated insults to women:

Girls be like, ‘I don’t get along with other girls.’

REALLY. IS THAT SO. Because I don’t know about you, but I already don’t like you, so I sure as shit wouldn’t  get along with you, either.  This has to be the one statement that allows recipients of it to retort back with their middle finger.

Just because you may have been gifted with a little bit less estrogen than some of us, it doesn’t take away from the fact that.. you’re still a BITCH! With no female friends. Yes, some of us might be a little crazy and emotional, but when all your male friends go running off and getting married, you’ll be all alone, wishing you’d have acted like a decent human being and made friends with people along the way, regardless of whether they had a set of balls or not.

Let’s face it, God gave you a pair of boobs, which makes you need to wear a sports bra to do anything remotely active, Mother Nature gave you one week out of four to justify your bitchiness, and at the end of the fucking day, your male posse will never understand you quite the way we do.  You aren’t so different from us, trust me.

And TBH…(the Bieber Hater? The Butt Hugger?) …Sorry, no that’s ‘To Be Honest,’  you may not have a lot of friends. Your struggle is real.

This is 2014. It’s time for us females to start empowering one another! Why would we bash our own sex? Being a woman is awesome, being friends with us is even better.