I went into a 'Love Shop'....alone.

I am fairly certain that the 'Love Shop' would be the same as the Stag shop....mind you I am only assuming since I have never been in either...until today. 

My brother in-law and sister in-law are tying the knot next month. They have been together forever, that I think we all sort of thought they were already married. Anywhoooooo, with impending nuptials just around the corner, the bachelor and bachelorette parties are tomorrow. I decided that my sis in-law should have one, and since her maid of honour lives in a different country and her remaining bridesmaids are her own daughters...I offered to organize. 

First off, I have hardly ever been a bachelorette (was engaged at age 20 to the 3rd boyfriend I had had, and then when that didn't work out <surprise surprise>, I got married again..) so my reference is based on stories and urban legends. Who better to plan/host a bachelorette party than me right!? 

The bride-to-be is not new to being a woman.  She is a mom of 4 girls, a big wig marketing exec, and has class (the good kind).  So where better to shop for party thingies, than a store that has tons of 'thingies'. 

I'm not sure what I expected from the Love Shop. I think if I had been polled about it, I would have said I would go there with my main squeeze (a sexy date or what have you)...But instead, wearing my sexiest attire (Run DMC teeshirt and million year old jeans) and a need to get loot for the party, I limped my way to the car and made the trip into the BIG city (Guelph...it has a Love Shop right on its border presumably for us small town folk).  

The store has a plethora of windows that are plastered with brown paper and newspapers so you are left guessing what is inside. Like a present. BUT NOT A PRESENT. 

I opened the door, fully expecting a doorman asking to see my ID (sign says only those 18 and older are allowed entry), but there was only a really dark store to greet me. I stood for several minutes allowing my eyes to adjust from the brightness which was the outdoors, to the pitch that was now my shopping adventure. For those that do not know me: I don't enjoy shopping. I never have. Looking on shelves, racks, etc for deals/products makes me a crazy person. Soooo, here I am...shopping. 

I knew there would be some penises for sale. This was not a shocking discovery. What blew me away (no pun intended), was HOW MANY penises were for sale (I did not see any for rent, so that's good news). Ranging in sizes as little as ones you would assume were for Barbie and Ken, to others that could double as Gargoyles on some mansion somewhere. And if I wasn't wondering enough about the gargoyles, I was perplexed by the array of colours. Don't get me wrong, I think it is very thoughtful to have a wide selection of flesh tones. But fluorescent green?! I have to say, if a penis is fluorescent (any colour, I'm not just picking on 'green')... It needs medical attention...STAT. 

So after, being a little lost in the role play section (I found a nurses costume so perhaps that's where the green penis gets treated), I finally found the party accessory section. There are so many games I didn't realize were legal...or played with cards. I was able to grab a few things that may be suitably unsuitable for the party goers and made very little eye contact with other shoppers (lesson learned: don't EVER look into the room labeled MOVIES and politely smile...at ANYONE). 

And now I am home. With another life experience that I can cross off the ol' bucket list (it was never on my list, but it is nice to feel like I got something done). My only question: should I wash my purchases before I hand over to guests and place on heads? 'It's Tricky'. (<see what I did there?)

Stay happy & healthy (always wash your hands)

www.jomoma.ca 

The Truth about keeping the relationship HOT

I have noticed quite a few of these types of articles lately. Some attack the matter from a married housewife perspective, some from the pews of a church, and others from the grocery store melon section (I know right!?). 

And finally, by popular demand (I may have made that part up), Jo:Moma's version:

Kids. They are fun to make, and killjoys for trying to continue any sexy time after they arrive. If they don't need to be fed, changed, entertained, watched, or bailed...they are lurking somewhere. Eventually, you and your sexy time partner just have to relinquish the idea that the kids will come out of this unscathed. They will hear it, or walk in on it... Just ask around for therapists your friends are using for their kids. 

Beds are for sissies. Being married with kids means that my bed is not a playground for love making.  It is however, a playground. If there isn't a child in it, there is evidence of a child. A stuffed animal. A beloved blankie. A lego. Set up a love shack in the laundry room, gawd only knows kids don't have the foggiest clue where that is (in our case it is the room where we store dirty clothing for weeks on end...sexy? No. But I digress, I'm merely problem solving..)

Say thank you. Say sorry. Say hi. Say goodnight. We tend to treat strangers better than the person we have chosen to get our rocks off with. Being polite is truly a way to lay kindling for a hot fire later. 

Learn your partners love language. There are five: Words of Affirmation, Quality Time, Receiving Gifts, Acts of Service, and Physical Touch (The Five Love Languages - Gary Chapman). HOLD THE PRESSES! There is a 6th. WINE. Enough said.  

Massages. Now, I am going to stereotype here. If you find that you CAN'T relate...well, yay you. 

Men: when you have been asked to provide a massage, this is an invitation to 'massage'. NOT body surf. This is not sex. 

Women: mix it up. Give a massage with the intent to hit a home run. Nothing is sexier than surprise. Discounting a lego in the arch of your foot in the middle of the night...or afternoon, or anytime really. 

Listen. Listen to each other talk about schmidt you could care less about. Listen to the details of an operating 2 stroke (I'm fairly certain that is an engine..) and listen to the ingredients required for a new recipe, or the new workout regime, or the vacation plans (you will be tested). But mostly, everybody likes to be heard and if you can muster it, ask a question that shows you were listening. It will pay off later....

Trust. Trust yourself. Trust you made the right decision. Trust you are the best thing to happen to your partner. Trust that wrinkles, cellulite, coffee breath, a crying child, a missed payment, and any loss is OKAY so long as you are committed to tackle it together. Trust you are a team. 

Finally, laugh. Sexy time isn't really like the movies. Hair isn't perfect (shaved, brushed or what have you), body parts cramp, time isn't boundless... Bodies can/will make noises you hadn't planned on...but being comfortable enough to laugh at it all, is sexier and hotter than any movie scene (well, most anyway). 

Stay happy & healthy & hot

www.jomoma.ca 

My warranty is up.

I have been 40 for 7.5 months now. Don't get me wrong, I like being 40, however I do think my parents didn't invest in the extended warranty when it came to me. I have been falling apart. Well, everything appears to be attached on the outside (the insides are questionable.)

 

My shoulders are effed. I am presently waiting for the results of the latest test. I take responsibility for not seeking medical help earlier....but I blame my parents who were young when they were 'creating' me. They clearly didn't know the difference between elbows and shoulders and gave me the wrong joints. So after 40 years, my sh-elbows are used up. On a plus, I have yet another reason I look like I haven't brushed my hair ('cuz I haven't ...). 

I struggle with 'rest'. I LOVE the idea of doing nothing, until I am doing nothing. It is then that I see all that needs to be done. Sure I should give my shoulders a break...I haven't been throwing around weights or brushing my hair for months now.... But it is spring...and yard work is calling me...no YELLING at me to do it. Sooooo, I have wrestled with weeds and bushes. Raked leaves I missed in the fall....And moved rocks. 

Yes...moved rocks. I'm an idiot. I know my shoulders can't take it, so I compensated and used my back.  As it turns out, I did so: incorrectly. It would appear my parents didn't think I would need an extended warranty on my back either. 

I dropped to my knees for the better part of 7 minutes (I watched the minutes tick by on my new Fitbit ...this is not product placement...just irony at its finest). At 1st I hoped my hubby wouldn't see me (he gets all bent out of shape, when I have bent my shape..)...and then after several minutes I wondered if anybody would find my body. I eventually got up...and took a much needed rest....HAHAHAHAH NOT! Like the true idiot that I am, I continued to shovel and move wheelbarrows. *warning DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. This stunt was performed by a professional idiot.*

It wasn't until I tried to 'jump' out of bed at 2 in the morning to attend to windows that were open in the thunderstorm, that I realized I may have ruined my back. 

I have been grounded. I'm sitting on the couch (not comfortably) with a coffee and my iPad (no phone...it jumped out of my pocket last week, hit the floor and died...not unlike its owner...no warranty). I am forced to do nothing. 

This may be a week of blogs. Consider yourself warned. 

Check your warranties. 

Stay happy & healthy 

www.jomoma.ca 

Perfectionist? I'm a 'expect'tionist.

Ok, already the word police are ready to put me in cuffs for making up a word....Easy....I bite. 

I have been 'criticized' in the past (or maybe even the present) for my 'perfectionist' ways. This blog is meant to set the record straight. I am NO perfectionist. Seriously...there are oodles of things in my life that are less than perfect...in fact, down right messy, sticky, and in need of a dousing of gasoline and a match. What I am, (and I say this with gusto..<I've always wanted to use that word>)..I AM AN EXPECT-tionist. I expect certain things. 

For example, if I see you driving your car like an idiot and you clearly have zero eye lead and lack of co-operation for fellow drivers, I will let your stupid self in the lane you are rudely trying to get in to. I EXPECT, you will give me the 'thank you' wave. 

If you say you want to meet at 2... Meet me at 2. Not 2:15...not 3... TWO! I expect punctuality. (Unless you are drinking...or have children..or are drinking because you have children). 

If I have asked you to do something (child 1 through 4... These are my children for those that are late to the party),: DO. IT. WELL. Do not cut corners. Do not procrastinate. Do not object. JUST DO IT (thank you Nike, I have gotten serious mileage out of that slogan). 

If you profess to be my friend, defend the haters in my absence.  Do not ignore.  I will bury bodies for you, I EXPECT the same. 

If you do ANYTHING, give 100%. Not 60.  Not 90. One effing hundred. What is the point of going through the motions? Give it your all. You won't be disappointed. 

Say thank you. 

Hold doors. 

Smile back. 

Flush the toilet. 

Put garbage in garbage cans. 

.....

Theses are things I expect. 

Signed,

messy haired, dandelion lawned, unfolded laundry chick 

aka Jo:Moma 

Stay happy & healthy

www.jomoma.ca 

Magazines are meant to sell...

If you are reading this blog, it is for one of the following reasons: 

You have an interest in health and fitness. 

You enjoy reading something written by somebody who is unhinged. 

You are my Mom.

For the purpose of this blog, let's talk health and fitness. 

We stand in the grocery check-out line and peruse the magazines. The scantily clad, tight bodies attracting us from several feet away, while we wait for our time to hand over our money for stuff we probably didn't need. 

The magazines have bold statements that we can't help but notice. 

30 Days to a Flatter Belly.

Lose 10 lbs in 1 week. 

Detox with a 5 day cleanse. 

Blah blah blah. 

We may or may not believe the proclamations and we may or may not buy the magazine. Regardless, the damage is done. The image, the 'topics', they now take up space in our heads. We recall the 10% body fat bikini model when we are getting into our jammies (pjs), and we push away from the dinner table second guessing our meal choices. 

The magazines have been successful. They have planted a seed, and usually this seed is a poisonous one or at the very least, it will take your money. 

Magazines are mostly advertising. It is packaged in such a way that we, the consumers, are not overtly aware. The 'supplements' are disguised as kitchen staples, the workout attire as necessary equipment, and the 'diets' as effective (because we are duped by the before and after pic that has been used in previous editions, for a different 'diet'). 

Don't believe me? Pick up the magazine and flip it over to the back cover. Is it an ad? Now open up the magazine....count how many articles are not selling something (a service, a method, a product, a person...), I would suggest that there are less than half a dozen 'free' articles. This is not 'literature'...this is propaganda. 

Take it for what it is: 'entertainment' at best.  There may be some new exercise pics that are of some value to you, or a recipe...but I would suggest you save your money if you are looking for health and fitness tips/tricks/information. We live in a brilliant age where info (Free) is available at our finger tips by a mere click of a button. Be suspicious of 'health/fitness' magazines that are housed between chocolate bars, packages of gum and calling cards. 

As always, stay happy & healthy

www.jomoma.ca