How To Turn Your Neighbours On While Raking Leaves

It's a sunny November morning.

You're feeling feisty, and looking for trouble.

What now?

Sexy leaf raking.

Directions:

STEP 1: Go braless. It's 1:00pm on a Saturday, so it's not like you would have a bra on anyway.

STEP 2: Always, ALWAYS be sure to be sporting black socks. As you put on your white dollar-store flip flops.

STEP 3: Pants! Don't forget pants. You don't want to get arrested or anything crazy. My recommendation? A nice, faded navy blue pair of men's Scooby-Doo branded pajama pants. Only you will know that a peep through the men's button crotch holds a Sultry leaf-raking Saturday surprise.

Scooby caught a glimpse. Didn't think he was the pervy type.

STEP 4: Cover yourself up with a dirty burgundy hoody. Great Dane drool on the sleeves is optional. (Depends if you can rock it or not, and only you, dear friend, can make that call).

STEP 5: Grunt. A lot. I really mean A LOT.

STEP 6: Wheeze a bit, and brace yourself on your Scooby-covered knees.

STEP 7: Play with your messy, bedraggled hair. Belch if you so desire.

                   Almost done.

STEP 8: Get out the rake and begin raking. Quit part way through to come inside and eat Halloween candy that you never handed out to the neighbourhood kids.

Grr, Baby. Grr.

DONE.

Also?

You're welcome. Just wait for the date requests and restraining orders to start rollin' on in.


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Rap, The Superbowl, and Sex-ay Knees

So, just in case anyone was wondering/curious/losing sleep at night as to whether or not rap/hip-hop-pop music sounds wicked awesome live, um.

It sucks balls.

Hard.

I believe that there is no rap that sounds good live. It's just shouting. The Superbowl confirmed this, and it isn't even hard-core rap. I am pretty sure that Fergie and Slash would have made Axl Rose roll in his grave (since his career is totally dead  if he were actually dead).

Ohhh, woah woah sweet earful atrocity of mie-ine.... ooooh woah woah woah, sweet Slash-Fergie collaboration...

What.The.FUCK? Seriously? Reeeeally? Seriously?

That was brutal. I was in a restaurant with my mom, and even the restaurant noise, restaurant music, and our desperate attempts to speak very loud (to drown out the sound of her dying-cat-like-singing) were no competition.

I think I threw up a little in my mouth.

Oh Slash. Are times that hard, my friend?

So, it took me a while to decide which Superbowl party to go to. I had SO many invites (read: NONE), so I went to dinner for half, and then sat on the floor with the dogs for the other half.

Also?

Last night I got all dressed up to go to Toronto for dinner with BF and friends. Rocked a new dress with a wee patent belt, and patent knee high boots. Rocked out the red Christmas coat. Felt pretty good.

Was sitting in the car, while BF pumped gas, when I realized I was not as sex-ay as I felt:

Goddamn knobby knees, poor vision, dim bathroom lighting and KNEE EFFING HAIR.

Yeah. That is some serious hair on the knee. It's LONG people. How does one miss that? Clearly for weeks? Like, every time I've shaved for the past month?
I felt instantly gross.

Driving home the point that I shall never, ever, feel confident or sex-ay, because there will always be something just lurking around the corner to drag you down and make you feel like a hairy horse.

Just sayin'.

Fuck you, knee hair. Well played.



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