Nov 27

The Naked Truth

or Why I Go Crazy When You Grab The Covers


When I read yesterdays blog post, I was reminded again of what an incredible man I am going to marry.  I wonder how I got so lucky to find someone who loves me this much, and who never lets an opportunity go by to remind me of that.

I also read the comments with great interest.  Gadget and Scotty P have raised some interesting questions.  I started to think about why women behave the way they do when it comes to being naked and sharing our bodies with our partners.  It’s no great secret that not too many of us are strutting our stuff regularly in our homes, regardless of the time of day or the amount of light directly or indirectly hitting our naked selves.  The truth is, we don’t like being naked.  Well, that’s not entirely true.  We like being naked…we just don’t like you to see it.

This leads us to the obvious question of: Why?

What has turned us in to an army of cover-clutching, darkness-loving paramours?  We can revel in our bodies and our pleasure, but only if we are completely shrouded in blackness and your eyes have been gouged out.  Men, being the somewhat straight-thinking creatures they are, seem baffled by our bizarre behaviour.  They don’t understand that they are fighting a lifetime of not-so-mixed messages telling us that we are not achieving the ideal image of what a man wants to see in his bed.

It starts early on, in the toys we play with, and the shows we watch.  Barbie had a waist so tiny, and breasts so large, it would be nearly impossible for her to walk upright if she was a real woman.  As we grew up, we watched shows with lead characters with perfect, thin bodies, and clear, smooth skin.  Girls whose biggest problem was which boy would take her to the school dance.  Meanwhile back in reality, most of us were spending the 7 long minutes of ‘Stairway To Heaven’ holding up the gymnasium wall, diverting eye-contact and watching the early-bloomers getting hastily felt up on the dance floor.

We are assaulted daily with images of perfection from every corner, and we have been all of our lives.  Nearly all of the images we see in the media portray the very small minority of women who have the ‘ideal’ proportions.  According to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, the average U.S. woman is 5’4″ and weighs 152 pounds.   The average working model is 5′ 10″ tall and weighs no more than 115lbs.   You do the math.  Someone has been fucking with our heads, and in the process, has sold us a boatload of garbage.

This got me thinking:  Why do we hate ourselves so damn much?

I have an incredible group of friends.   All of them are beautiful, interesting and intelligent.  I say that without exception, by the way.  Each of them has gifts and talents that impress me and make me proud to know them.  And ALL of them fight with similar feelings of body shame.   I wanted to get some more opinions on the subject, so I sent many of them a message asking them to share their thoughts on the subjects.  Every one of them that sent me a reply did so without the veil of anonymity.  I am assigning random initials to protect their identity, but here are some of their replies:


“When i look in the mirror, I truly hate what I see.  I see the rolls, lumps, cellulite that have accumulated since the birth of my child, and honestly, before that even.  I can’t imagine how anyone would find that acceptable, let alone attractive.  It physically repulses me to look at my naked body.”  ~E.E


“As someone who is transgender, body image is huge for me. It feels like I have parts I shouldn’t and parts I should have. My mind doesn’t match my body. And I know, from talking to other women, this is a common thing among all women. Not just transgendered. I am not ashamed of how my body looks. It just doesn’t match what I see in my head. I think the media is to blame for how women view themselves. A small percentage of women are held up to the world as the “norm.” When in reality, most women are, excuse my language, plus size. We as women need to ignore what the media tells. As long we are healthy and happy, what difference does it make how we look? ” ~V.A

“I know I’m not the smallest chick out there and I am a mother so yes, I have some battle scars.  I have lots of friends, so I assume I’m a likeable person. It must be my body. It must be the way I look.  All of my friends are either fit or just naturally thin, and they complain all the time about the parts of their body they hate.   I wonder, if that’s how they feel about themselves, then they must think I’m one step short of having handlers. Compared to them, I’m the size of a Macy’s parade float! “ E.L

“Media. Be it- in print, or on the big screen.. Porn included.. For this I am affected. The typically man-pleasing porn often has “girls” and I mean girls that haven’t been blessed with child bearing hips, stretch marks and or c-section scars. This, when used for arousal, makes me feel somewhat inferior, as my breasts have not been inflated to work as a chin rest, nor can you count my ribs. However I am healthy.  I work on my eating and exercise choices every day. The fact that men often resort to pleasing themselves with porn, or just using it as a means of warming up, makes me feel as though,  “Okay…if that’s turning your crank, what in the world could you see in my curves, natural breasts and my collection of cellulite?” ~T.W.


I saw from their replies that I was not alone in my own struggle with poor body image.  Every one of us has been raised in a different set of circumstances, and yet we all emerged into adulthood with the same general mindset:  “My body is not good enough”.  How incredibly sad is that?

Even the media that claims it is trying to change the terrible body image women have isn’t doing much better.

Really? *THIS* is average?

The women pictured have perfect proportions.  There isn’t any visible cellulite and their skin is as smooth and inviting as any other fashion magazine model.  Yes, they are physically heavier, but their proportions are perfection, and they also do not represent the ‘average’ woman.  Even in trying to set the standard back to something more realistic, the result only further reinforces the ideal that my body, and most of the bodies of my friends, are not ‘up to snuff’ in the eyes of the collective public.

Luckily something magical happens in a woman’s life when she gets a bit older.  She just stops giving a fuck.


You tell ’em, Julie…

It’s true…we really start to get it later in life.  After spending a lifetime thinking that everyone else hates us as much as we do, we start to realize that we aren’t that bad.  I’m not saying it’s an overnight transformation, but it happens.  It starts slow.  Maybe the soft lights get left on at bedtime, just to test the waters.  If our mate doesn’t throw up at the sight of us, it’s a good sign.  Maybe the things he’s been saying all these years might actually be true.

It has taken the unconditional love of another human being to help me start to see that much of my own problem with body image is largely ridiculous.  It’s true that I love him with all of my heart, and every inch of him is dear to me.  There is not one part of his body that I find repulsive or unattractive, so why should it be any different for him?  I believe it is best said in the reply I received from one of my longest friends :

“Really, i think its WE women who make it something separate. Why should foreplay and sex be any different than holding hands in the car or hugging one another fully clothed?  It’s an expression of love. When he holds my hand in the car I don’t wonder if he thinks my fingers are too chubby or too bony, or if my nails are too long or too short or ugly without polish.  I don’t wonder if he is judging the dryness or texture of my hand… I don’t THINK about it!   I don’t analyze it!!! I just enjoy that he likes holding my hand.  I enjoy the masculine-ness of his hands and the sense of comfort, security, and being loved that comes with him reaching over to hold my hand, even on short drives, even after 22 years together. SO, why on earth should I feel ANY different about sex, foreplay or after play?  I’m the same woman in the same body when I’m having sexual relations as when I’m in the car feeling so securely loved because my husband holds my hand. ”  

So here’s the deal, boys.

Maybe your girl is still hiding in a shroud of covers at bedtime.  Maybe you are still trying to convince her that what you see is as beautiful as you can imagine.  Be patient, and keep it up.  Only time, trust and tenderness will help her undo a lifetime of messages that have been making her feel less than perfect.  What she wants is to be the most beautiful woman you have ever held.  If you keep reminding her that she is, you will be paving over a road of insecurity with love and reassurance.  Beauty is in our hearts and our minds as much as it is in our physical bodies.  When love and trust mate, beautiful things can happen.

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.       

(excerpt from ‘Phenomenal Woman’ by Maya Angelou)

It might seem as if women need to be hand-held and coddled like a child in this respect.  Unfortunately that is the case.  The strong, independent career woman you know and love, who can handle a full time job, children, the responsibilities of home and still manage to be ready to hit the sheets after a long day, has a huge achilles heel.   She is afraid if you get a good look at her naked body, you will laugh, tease or even leave for someone ‘better’.   We have come a long way, baby.  By being a nurturing, loving partner in the bedroom, you can help us soar to heights we never dreamed of emotionally, as well as sexually.

Just grab a hold of my body and mind,

Mrs. B

Nov 01

My last day of city driving

I’m officially finished as a local truck driver, or camionneur for Sebastard and any other Francophones that happen to peruse this little piece of heaven that we have going on here. I guess I’m happy about it, but it might take a day or two for that to set in. I know that I don’t have to get up tomorrow, but I probably will. What the hell else am I supposed to do? I should go get a shed and put it together, or maybe I’ll try to figure out where the sonotubes are going for the deck, and start digging the holes. The shed is probably the better answer, then the deck. We are going to be needing somewhere to put all of the shit in the yard. Maybe I can build a shed out of the hot tub, and the roof rack thing. I love the way that I plan all of this shit, but what will probably happen, is I’ll spend nine hours jumping back and forth between trying to find a new format for the blog, looking at porn, and smearing my DNA all over the mouse and keyboard. Ah, fuck it. Can someone remind me to go get a shed in the morning? You might need to tell me a few times, thanks a bunch.

Maybe I’ll go visit Mom and Paul for a while. He got fixed up today, so he can eat and drink again. I could maybe see if they need the grass cut one last time before the snow flies. There’s nothing worse than having to cut matted down, long grass and rotting leaves in the spring. Well, I guess there are some worse things, like anal rape, getting beat up by a twelve year old, or finding out your wife is your half-sister that was given up for adoption when your mom was fourteen. I love when people say that. “There’s nothing worse than…” Every time they say it, you can think of thousands of things that are worse. Nothing worse than a head cold. Really? Try AIDS, asshole. Nothing worse than a chick dragging her teeth. No? How about getting gut shot.

Another one I love is “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.

“Wow, I had kidney stones. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

I fucking would. I’d wish it on all of my enemies and I’d also make them shit razor blades and fart out of their mouths. I hate my enemies, that’s why they are enemies. I’m pretty sure that it’s law to want your enemy’s head on a pike. If you don’t want them dead, they are just someone you don’t care for. Hell, I want people who mildly piss me off to get their arms broken as a voice enters their head, saying “This is for being a douchy twat yesterday.”

Another thing I want to rant about. Teach your fucking cats and dogs to speak and type properly, or don’t let them on the computer. I am getting so sick of these internet signs with horrible grammar, spelling and punctuation. Don’t pretend that there is nothing you can do. You were there taking their picture, so why not correct their spelling and syntax while you’re at it? Have = have, not haz. I feel like learning how to track on the internet, just so I could find these pieces of shit and beat them into unconsciousness with a God damned dictionary.

I’m going to go to bed now, and hope my hostility dwindles while I cry myself to sleep in the bosom of my true love. I have to keep telling myself that there is no alarm going off in the morning. I can sleep in, if I want to, but I rarely do. I think you just get used to waking up at a certain time. Oh well, I guess I’d better hit the fart sack.

Put another log on the fire,


Oct 24

Know what I hate?

I hate seeing people that can’t afford to support themselves having kids. Yeah, and I mean it too. Why is this shit allowed to happen here? Two people that don’t have jobs start breeding and get rewarded for it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for social assistance if someone can’t work, or temporarily got set back a bit, but if you are capable of working, and are just plain lazy, you should not be allowed to have children. They should be taken away from you at birth, and given to a family that can support them without government assistance. It’s simple economics, and I believe psychology probably comes into effect, but I’m no expert, I’m just a dude with an opinion.

Now I have stated that I’m not an expert, so I don’t know how much you get from welfare, but everyone is constantly saying that it isn’t enough to live on. I’m not disputing that, I’m just saying to use a fucking condom, or better yet, don’t have sex. If you can’t afford to live with two people, what makes you think three or four will make it easier. I’ve never had a kid, but I know lots who have, and they are having a hard time with two incomes. They don’t even want to imagine that they’d have to do it with half the money coming in.

Another thing I hate is injustice. It makes me mad to see good things happening to bad people, and I go through the visions of meting out justice to the offenders, with a swift harshness seen only in Turkish prisons and mob movies. You drive like a prick, a huge guy pulls you over and shoves your face through the side window. You do it again, and you lose a hand. This is to be televised on roadside cameras, so that everyone can see what happens when you are an asshole. I bet you’d have a bunch of courteous motherfuckers letting you in every day, and you can be damn sure no one will be illegally parked during rush hour anymore.

Speaking of injustice, I’ve figured out a way to recoup losses in the penal system. Let’s take Paul Bernardo for instance. We know without a doubt that the sick bastard is guilty as hell. You know, with the video evidence and all that. Are you ready for this? Auction off beatings on the dirty scumbag. I know I’d kick in a hundred or so to the French and Mahaffy families to beat that douche to within an inch of his life. You’d need a doctor there to make sure he didn’t die, and to get him healed up for next months lambasting by the highest bidder. I know you’d make a bit off of the auctions, but can you imagine the television rights? Oh yeah, people would need to see that, but mostly just to scare the shit out of them. We all know that God isn’t scaring people anymore, so someone has to, and we might as well pay for the prisons somehow other than our taxes. I know this all sounds brutal, and it is, but I think it would work, and even if it didn’t, I’d like to see that perverted fuck get a little payback for the torture and grief that him and his twisted deviant wife have caused so many people. I hope that she gets it the same way she gave it, except twice as hard and twice as often.

Jesus, have you had enough yet? I don’t know where this anger came from all of a sudden, but there it is, and I don’t want to take it back. I am a firm believer in corporal punishment, if it is proven without a shadow of a doubt. Do you wish I had said that people on welfare should be beaten if they have kids? That would be funny to say, but only because of the absurdity of it. Instead, I think that chemical castration and tube tying after the first one, or after a year of being a lazy leech. I again want to stress that this does not apply to all people on social assistance, but we all know that there are some that abuse the system, and they know who they are. I guess they are probably not reading this blog, so if you know such a fiend, print this post and stick it to their door with a Rambo knife, like in roadhouse when he stuck it to the gas pedal. Try to avoid ripping their throat out though. There’s no need to get all crazy and shit like Patrick Swayze before he died from smoking. Apparently he was really bad ass as a fighter, so it’s a good thing that not too many people put Baby in a corner.

Give your body to science,



Oct 19

Just swear and blaspheme already, for the love of fucking Christ

Yeah, I’m going to rant about this for a bit, because I feel I’ve been too nice lately. This was brought to my attention by a friend who told me that she didn’t want me to share all of that sentimental shit with her. Well fine then, I shall dazzle you all with my thoughts on people who say gosh, darn, heck, frig and cripes, amongst others.

Alright, now let’s say that the bible is correct, and God does exist, and he is all powerful and all knowing, just like you all think he is. Do you think you’re fooling him by saying “gosh darn it”? No God damn way. He knows exactly what you mean. How about jeepers creepers or jeez? Nope, Jesus knows that you mean him, and worse yet, so does his dad. His dad gets pissed off really easy too. Don’t think that having a child has calmed that angry, old man down. He may have toned it down a bit for the New Testament, but believe you me, he’s still got a mean streak, and it gets worse when he’s drinking.


Yes, God and Jesus both know you are taking their names in vain, and if you weren’t so scared of them, you would be yelling that shit from the rooftops. It’s kind of like high school, when a bully is talking to you, and you’d tell them how much you like them, and how cool they are, but you really think they are assholes. You know what happens next? You go to a party, drink half a mickey of rye, and start talking about how you’d kick the living piss out of that big bastard. You might even add in that you already did hang a licking on them a few years ago, and he/she was still scared of you. Oh yeah, you’re the big man on campus now, with everyone crowding around asking for your autograph and shit, and that’s when it hits you. A massive fist, followed by several more, and as you start getting closer to the ground, the feet begin their frenzied riverdance all over your head, torso and occasionally your groin. This is exactly what is going to happen to you when God and his posse get a hold of you, except it will be the Devil laying the beating on your ass.

Luckily for me, I don’t believe in God, so I’m safe and free to live my life without fear of persecution from a higher power. I can blaspheme all day long if I want to, and I sometimes do. Jesus H Christ, I hope I’m right about the God not existing thing, or it’s gonna be a hot old afterlife for the Birdman. Just in case I am incorrect in my assumption, I’d like to get all of the Christians to pray for me and my soul. Don’t get me wrong, I still want to end up in Hell, but I’d like to get a cushier job and maybe some perks, like A/C or maybe a sweet log cabin in the woods for my holidays.

As for the swearing part, you should just relax and swear, instead of using the “diet cuss”. The words mean the exact same thing, all except for “frig”. I have yet to hear someone say “I took her home and frigged the crap out of her.”, that just sounds wrong. I’m not saying that no one says that. I just haven’t heard it, and I’ve met a lot of people that take women home. Why is “shit” any different from “crap”? It’s not, and never will be. They can both mean feces, trouble or bad. Why is shit wrong to say around some people then? I don’t know, but it is, and people usually check what they say when they are around the “gentle” people. I’m guilty of it too, but that’s a respect thing. If I know that someone doesn’t swear, I try not to swear around them. I don’t like making people feel uncomfortable, but I would like to raise people’s comfort levels up to mine, so I can be myself around them. I have a foul mouth, and no matter how I try to word things, they always mean the same thing in the end, so what’s the point of mincing words, when you can say it all with a good cuss? Another thing I like to do is to emphasize the curse words when I use them. I think it makes me funnier, and sometimes scarier, and I think we all will agree, that I could stand to be both.

In conclusion, my brothers and sisters, Go forth on your journey of enlightenment, and attend any church on Sunday. While you are there, make sure to say in a moderately loud voice, “I’m not taking any more of your God damn bullshit, Jesus, so you can go to Hell.”, and feel a great weight lift off of your shoulders. I’m just kidding. If you are in church, you should just whisper that shit. It’s quite rude to speak out there. When you are done at church, walk on over to our Facebook page, and enjoy some cookies and punch, you will like it. In case you didn’t understand. I want you to click the link above and go to our Facebook page and then click the like button there.

Michael row the boat ashore,


P.S. is not responsibe for any smitings (or is it smotings?), beatings or rapes by religious zealots, or any other harm that may befall you in the event that people can’t take a fucking joke.

Oct 15

Occupy your mind

Do you know what’s wrong with the Occupy Wall Street movement? It’s just not going to work. Mainly because we as a people are too stupid to quit giving these greedy pricks our money. How can I blame Samsung for charging me $700 for a phone, when I’m standing there, waving money and saying “Gimme, gimme, gimme”? Yeah, I’m in the same boat over here. That would be pretty hypocritical of me as I sit here eating my Doritos, typing on my Android and sucking back a Pepsi Max, to call someone else stupid for giving in to it. I’m already enough of a hypocrite, without adding that to the pile. We seem to want everyone else to have our money, because we feel entitled to get everything we desire. I mean it, we think that because we go to work at whatever job we do, we should take our paycheque to Walmart or Costco, and buy a ton of shit that we don’t need.

Go home, grab a shower and look for a job in the country

That’s right, we don’t need it, we want it. There’s a huge difference between the two that not many of us can see. I need water, food and some sort of a shelter, I want a fancy phone, to eat at a Thai restaurant, and a new laptop. Do you see the difference? I should not be borrowing money for a car, but I should be borrowing money for food, if my family is hungry. We need to eat, we don’t need a $70 satellite TV bill every month, especially when a library card is free, and the children today could really use a good book. Is it a necessity that I am sending my words through the internet to you? Fuck no, it sure isn’t. This is a luxury, and the people who make money off of this thing, should be doing so as a hobby after they’ve gone out and weeded their garden, or finished baking their weeks worth of bread, or something along those lines.

I’m not saying you should go this far, but you can if you want to. Just ask bruncle Jimmy

You know what I mean, do something productive, and don’t give Galen Weston $3.49 for a loaf of God damned bread (seriously, it was leavened). Learn to bake your own things, make your own furniture, or grow your own food, and sell that shit to your neighbours. Better yet, trade your shit, for their shit, because we all know that your strawberry jam is three notches above the taste of a skunks asshole, and your neighbour couldn’t grow tomatoes if his life depended on it. Find something you love, and are fairly good at, and run with it. Force your friends to buy things you’ve made, and you buy things that they’ve made. No money goes to China or India, unless you are buying tea, because that’s what they do there. Next time you are looking for a new table, don’t go to the fucking Brick and buy a piece of garbage table that’s made in a factory somewhere. It’s not going to last you for a lifetime like a handmade, wooden table that was crafted by someone in your area. The problem is that you may have to pay more than $249 for it, but you know what? It’s a major piece of furniture, and you should spend some dough to obtain it, you won’t though, because there are these really cool DVD box sets coming out this month that you just have to have, or maybe you don’t get your two extra large double doubles from Timmies each day for a year.

When I was out west, I bought a longbow off of this eccentric fellow that made these beautiful, ornate and functional bows. It cost me about the same as going to the store and buying a Chinese-made, mass-produced bow from a local chain store. This guy created a work of art, probably spending fifty hours and a bunch of money on it and he couldn’t make a living at that because people would rather go out and get something off the shelf, than go out and get Jim to measure them up and build them a one of a kind masterpiece. That makes me sad, and a little bit angry. We have completely lost our way in our push for advancement. I don’t think we are going forward at all, but it doesn’t mean we can’t change the way we do business in the future. I look around at my neighbours and wonder what kinds of things they might make as a hobby. Maybe it’s wooden hobby horses, soap, or rocking chairs. Maybe Christmas, a birthday or some other gift giving celebration is coming up and you’re wondering what to get your aunt. Instead of getting her a gift card from Zellers (or Target now), get her some handmade bath oils, candles, or whatever else she’d like.

Click the pic for Northumberland Soapworks website

So go forth on your journey for fiscal equality and post something on your bulletin board, Facebook or local paper, asking if anyone makes a certain thing you’re looking for. You could also check the local thrift shops to find a good quality used whatchamacallit that needs a good home, and be proud that your hard earned dollars are going to support someone you know or live near, or even have heard of for that matter, and not into the pockets of whoever owns Canadian Tire, Hudson’s Bay Company or Walmart. Do you think the multimillion dollar executives of those companies give two shits about whether or not you get to eat next week? They don’t, and there’s a good chance that they find humour in the fact that you spend all of your dough buying their shitty products, while they are spending their unlimited supply of money on stuff that we will probably never get to see in person.

Hello Detroit auto workers, let me thank you for your time,


This is my submission for Dude Write 5, or maybe it was 6. Either way, I’m submitting it. Oh, and go check out the fantastic writers there.