Wax on, wax off.

One of the many trials and tribulations of being a woman is that we need to make the decision on how our vagina looks. Do we want it to be naked as the day we were born, and possibly created a complex in our men that they are attracted to bare vagina that resembles pre-pubescent teens, do we want to let it grow naturally, wild and free and risk the chance of our lover never being able to find our clit thru the lush pubic hair forest, or do we do some elaborate design in the shape of a wu tang symbol, heart, star, the first initial of the person enjoying our treasure box, or why not just leave a random little patch of hair that looks like a random furry bandaid left above your labia?! There are too many decisions for vaginal up keep. And the shit we go thru to keep her looking attractive is border line insane. It is never a comforting thought to make an appointment to go see a stranger to do the hedge trimming below the belt on your behalf, but it is indeed, worth it. Many years ago, I was too insecure to go spread eagle for a professional who could most likely do the vag maintenance properly and safely for me. So instead, I bought a wax kit, read thru the manual on how to wax my bikini area, and proceeded, with not enough caution to wax my own kitty cat. I was dating a new guy and the time was nearing to let him conquer my play area and I wanted it to be pretty and on point. Well, needless to say, that did not happen, I warmed the wax, awkwardly squatted/spread my legs, and applied an obnoxious amount of Hot, gooey, slimy wax to my vagina and local areas. I then placed the wax strip over the area I wanted to start with, but I got scared and had to talk myself into ripping off the strip. I waited far too long and the wax started to harden, I restarted my count down to rip the strip off, 50 times, by the time I did it I ripped it off and I actually had to check to see if I took a vag lip off with it. I whimpered and continued the process. My public region was a mess. Bald patches some places, then wax matted pubic hair in other places. I googled what to do in this situation and how to remove the excess wax, water and soap were not working, I tried trimming and shaving to remove the slicked back pubic hair coated in wax but it just made things worse. Sites on google suggested patting nail polish remover on the wax to get it to loosen up, uhhhh...I'm not really comfortable with that, good news is, if you had herpes or the clap I'm sure it would be gone after you bathed your twat in nail polish remover. After trying everything to get my vagina into an attractive state, I just gave up. I was sad that my date with a super hot guy that night would not be involving sex. After we went out for dinner and a movie we started getting hot and heavy, and when it came time to him begging to have some sex I just admitted to him I massacred my vagina earlier with a DIY wax kit. His response, "does your vagina still work?" And even though it looked like a damn mess, it did In fact still work. And we had sex that night, neither he nor his penis seemed to care about how my vagina looked, and I realized, we spend so much time and money on our vagina grooming, and I really don't know if guys care as much as we think they do. So, In conclusion my words of wisdom are, keep your vagina looking how you want it to look, with having a vagina it comes with great power over men so if you decide to wax it, even though it's awkward and you will without a doubt have a stranger looking directly at your vag hole and likely your asshole too if you get a Brazilian, it is worth it.

Why are people so ignorant...igna'ant I tellz ya!

This is not your usual Leanne type of blog post. Today I feel the need to rant about something serious. Today I ran into a woman I know who I spoke to a few weeks ago who had mentioned her daughter was getting married. When I saw her today I asked how the wedding went, she said it was beautiful but then she confessed to me that she lied to me previously about her daughter marrying her boyfriend, and that in fact her daughter married her girlfriend. And I said why would you lie about that, no one should care the sex of the person her daughter married. This woman, starts crying and telling me people didn't show up to the wedding because her daughter chose to marry a female. She also mentioned that in the past that when she mentioned her daughter was a lesbian that people have said rude things or abruptly ended the conversation. This broke my heart (what's left of this cold,cold heart). She told me her daughter and now daughter in law have been together since grade 9, went to college together, travelled the world together, and have been together for almost 17 years! They have been together longer than my hymen was attached to my vaginal wall. How the fuck can anyone question their love!? It pisses me off how people think same sex relationships are wrong. I'm a heterosexual female, and I've been in loveless, emotionally abusive and physically abusive relationships does that make my 'love'/relationships more superior than a same sex couple just because I have a vagina and the stupid men I've dated had a penis? Fuck no! Being single I know how hard it is to find love, to find someone to truly love you when times are good/bad, love you for everything you are and everything you aren't, and if someone can find someone to love them purely, how the hell can anyone judge that and try to belittle their joy?! Just because someone is gay doesn't mean they are going to lube up their dick in stick it in your ass, or pull down your pants and try to rub their taco with your taco and create and 2 taco dinner special. What people do in their bedroom affects them, and not you, if you knew half the weird stuff straight people were into you'd likely be more grossed out by that then you would some same sex play time. That will be all for today my friends. Stay tuned for your typical funny post!

Best friends forever!

When I was younger I honoured my friends with one half of a necklace that said 'best' or 'friend' to match my half to symbolize our never ending friendship, and to be honest, anyone who has received a best friend charm from me, is in fact still my best friend. Maybe that's why I have commitment issues when it comes to men,I put all my commitment tokens into my friendships. But this post isn't about my commitment issues, we will save that for my memoirs. But this post is about friendship, I believe you are only as good as the company you keep, and the company I keep luckily are just as crazy as I am. Perfect compliments to my insanity and hilarity. I used to work at Walmart, and I went into the washroom one time, and this lady had pooped her pants, you could see under the stall that she had taken her chocolate pudding pants off and they were sitting beside the toilet. I felt bad for her and asked her if I could go buy her another set of pants. She told me she had a friend coming to bring her a fresh pair. That's friendship. And I thought, if I untimely shit my pants in a Walmart who is a good enough friend to bring me some pants, and not judge me too hard. And I came up with a good list of people who would do this for me. Then I started thinking more In depth about my friends. And I made a list of people I have designated for specific situations. If I die, I have a friend to go clear my computer history, empty out my naughty drawer, buy me more underwear so it looks like I wear panties more often than I do and put it in my underwear drawer. I have great friends who rarely get ashamed or embarrassed of the foulness that comes out of my mouth, you know that you have friends best suited for you when they don't judge you when you say things like "I'm going to date a guy in a wheel chair and move Into a 12 story house, with all stairs, and get him all horny and sit in the top story of the house and make him work his way up to the 12th story to get vagina, just watch him elbow his way all the way to the top." Thanks to all my friends who support my dream, come to my shows, encourage me to be myself.

Leaving your legacy behind.

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season! I sure did, but the growth of my ass over the holiday season just proves a point that I need to work on saying 'no' to appetizers and other puff pastries. I'm sorry I haven't posted on here in a while, but they do say distance makes the heart grow fonder, so I hope you all missed me! I wasn't too sure about what to say in the post, so I decided to talk about what I do to make money aka my job. And to many this may come as a surprise I do not give out $5 handjobs for a living (I charge $6, because I'm classy like that). But in all seriousness I work in a clothing store. Not just any clothing store...a clothing store marketed towards elderly women. Now you'd think a foul mouthed asshole like myself wouldn't flourish with this clientele. But let me tell you, these blue haired hussies love them some Leanne. Now I am a master in changing my personality to suit the people that I am around. So at work, I lock away all the swear words and jokes about vagina in a safe and throw away the key while I am there. I find my self saying a lot of things like 'Ohhhh, Beatrice, that cardigan looks sharp on you. The Embroidered cardinal on the cuff looks so stunning.' And when a customer points out a flaw on the stitching of some very sexy elastic waist band pull on corduroy pants I say things like 'oh sweet heavens to Betsy, I will get that taken care of' now, I hate my self when I talk like that. But I understand the need to act that way around old people. And I honestly go home, shut the door and usually say every cuss word I know just to make sure I haven't lost a piece of my soul while at work that day. Working with old ladies can be fun, they usually have all the time in the world and aren't in a rush to get home to their husbands old, shrivelled up, inverted penis any time soon. But they are very needed. Like the time a 90 year old woman asked me to assist her in the change room with a pair of pants. She was weak and couldn't put the pants on by herself, soooo I had to do it. This sweet elderly woman, chose this day, the day that I was destined to help her dress, to wear the most see thru granny panties known to man. I saw her vagina. The entire thing, thru her worn out gitchies. There are things you can't unsee. And when looking at her dried up lady parts, my life flashed before my eyes, but only the life of my beloved vagina. It made me feel bad for the unpleasant moments I've put her thru, like discount tampons, dull razors, bad wax jobs, small unworthy penises, cheap cotton underwear, and that one time me and an ex boyfriend tried using heating sensations lube that made my vagina feel like she got sunburnt and then sprayed with acid. Seeing this old lady bird was traumatic, but at the same time, I realized I only have one vagina, and I need to make sure she sees better days. So one day when I'm 90 years old and some poor soul working in a clothing store has to help me put on my pants, she will look at my vagina and say 'that is the best looking geriatric vagina I've ever seen'. It's all about leaving a legacy in this world. Remember that.

Dreams really do come true. Not just at Disney...sometimes at The Roxbury too.

Tonight I performed for the first time on stage! It was by far the greatest feeling! Having people actually laugh at your material is so incredible. I can't even describe how I felt when I looked into the audience and saw this lady laughing super hard at my bent penis joke! I feel like when you are a beginner in comedy and people laugh at your stuff, you realize you are actually being successful at what you are trying to do. I guess that's how a prostitute feels after she realizes she gives a great blow job, her talents won't be wasted! It's so sappy to say that tonight one of my biggest dreams came true, I've always wanted to perform and make people laugh, it was unbelievable actually doing that. My uterus is making my super emotional today and I wish I could shrug it off and say 'it ain't no thang', but this right hurrr, this is a thang, a sweet thang! Comedians never know if they will make it, and if their names will become well known, and I have no idea how far I will go with this, but it really doesn't fucking matter, because I can say that I did it to some extent! A massive thank you to everyone who made it out to see me perform! And a bigger thank you to The Offenders of Comedy for giving me the chance to be onstage! My fear about doing comedy is that people will say 'she's a funny female comedian' fuck that noise, I just want to be a funny comedian! Ya dig!? So once again, thanks to everyone who is always insanely supportive of me, and I promise to do some blog posts ASAP to keep you entertained! Nearly 8000 views by the way, dang son.

The shit my friends and family say...featuring guest writer, the best video hoe trick I know, who rocks bangs like no other bitch can, the amazing Ana!

As a university-educated, semi-attractive (who are we kidding, I’m gorgeous), gainfully employed, white woman in her late twenties, I have a lot of problems. And, if the internet taught me anything, it’s that my problems are important and unique. Like a snowflake! Also, that people need to hear about them in great detail. My number one problem is that I am as awkward as a middle-school dance; at least as awkward as they were back in my day. Today’s kids just skip the awkward adolescence and go straight to drug use and casual sex the moment they turn 12. So their middle-school dances are pretty sweet. On an unrelated note, they are also a great place to sore some bomb E and to pick up younger, but physically mature dudes. My number two problem is that I can’t deal with any inconveniences. If I have to stand in line for longer than five minutes, I lose my shit. I begin to believe that the world is a horrible, unfair place and asking why all the bad things happen to me and me alone. If I buy something online and it takes more than five days to get to me, I feel like I have been wronged by the universe. I get cranky and depressed. If I’m sitting next to a crying baby, I really start believing that its parents decided to procreate just to piss me off. But I think everyone feels that way. I mean, scroll through your Facebook newsfeed and try to tell me that given half a chance you wouldn’t forcibly sterilize half of your so-called friends and co-workers. That’s what I thought. Anyway, a while ago my two problems (awkwardness and general inability to handle small inconveniences) were weighing heavy on my mind. So one day after a particularly trying commute from work, where I was surrounded by people and essentially assaulted by a 90 year-old woman (seriously, she hit me with the strength of ten thousand men, pulled my hair and pinched me), I realized that I just couldn’t go on. It was time to consult a professional. Like all white women with problems, I knew that my only answer was to see a psychiatrist. So, I made an appointment. At first, I was hesitant. Did I really need to see a psychiatrist just because some old woman violated my body and soul? Was I being dramatic? But then, I realized that it was going to be fucking awesome. Best case scenario: I moonwalk out of there with some sweet, sweet prescription meds. Worst case: I sit around for an hour and talk about how everything in my life is the fault of others while the kind doctor validates my totally awesome, unique feelings. I was so excited! Finally, the day of my appointment came. I had to sit around and fill out a bunch of forms before the doctor would see me. Mainly questions about my childhood, my relationships and feelings. After carefully answering the questions in a way that showed that I’m smart, misunderstood and unhinged just enough to get a prescription, I was led into a room. Finally, I would have a psychiatrist of my very own. I felt so grown up. I just knew that within days I would totally be one of those sophisticated women who wash their Xanax down with white wine spritzers and pass out face-first on their silk sheets. I even made a mental note to stop by Wal-Mart and buy a set of their finest polyester blend. For that brief five-minute wait, I really felt like I was on my way to being somebody. Finally the doctor came in. He looked a little disinterested. But, that’s totally okay, I mean he doesn’t even know me yet, I rationalized. He started reading my forms, the same way I read back of shampoo bottle while sitting on the can. All of a sudden he looked up at me. This is my chance, I thought, to say something witty and cement myself as his favourite patient. I opened my mouth and the first thing that I said (loudly) was, “So, give it straight to me, doc. Do I have Down syndrome?” “I beg your pardon?” said the doctor, clearly confused. “Do I have… down syndrome?” I asked, much quieter this time. Clearly, he wasn’t getting the joke. He stared at me, with a slightly perplexed and worried look. “No,” said the doctor. He was completely serious. “Do you think that you do?” Seriously? What can someone say to that? If I was feeling like a sophisticated patient of a real-life psychiatrist minutes ago, that feeling was now gone. “Oh, I don’t actually think I have it, I just thought it would be funny to say, like a joke, you know?” He looked at me, for what felt like an eternity. “Oh,” He didn’t even smile. “You don’t. You don’t have Down syndrome.” I’m not going to go into the rest of our appointment, because I don’t remember what we talked about. I just kept thinking about what I said. Did he think I was serious? Was there a chance that I may have it? Was my joke so inappropriate that he refused to acknowledge it? Did I accidentally commit a hate crime? Should I just stop interacting with people? I walked out feeling defeated, and like a bad, awkward person. I needed to talk to someone, so called a few friends. They laughed and agreed that I was in fact a bad, awkward person. Whatever, my friends are assholes anyway. Like they would even know what a good person looks like. At home, my boyfriend rolled his eyes at me and called me an idiot. He also said that I was a bad, awkward person. The next day, I consulted my co-workers, who sort of laughed and looked uncomfortable. Now that I think about it, they were probably just being polite. I told the story to my boss, who pretended to not hear me, both times I brought it up! In retrospect, it wasn’t the kind of story you tell your boss. I see that now. I know this has been a very drawn out story. You may ask what the point was. Well, there is no point. Except for the next time you are feeling a little maladjusted; ask yourself “Have I ever asked a mental- health professional if I have Down syndrome?” Chances are, the answer is no, so good for you.

Cashew dick

A couple of months ago I was minding my business, getting a grande crackacinno from Starbucks when this guy approaches me and gives me some stupid pickup line and asks if we could exchange numbers and meet up for drinks or food sometime. I wasn't really interested but I figure I will get two things out of this, 1) free food or drinks and 2) something funny to write about. Sure enough, here I am writing about this, and I got a few free meals seeing as we went on a few dates. Our first time out was nice, he was a decent enough guy and had a foul potty mouth, and I like it when people swear like a sailor, makes me feel like I'm at home. But my gut instinct was telling me to run (realistically I would just walk briskly, my fat ass isn't running anywhere, let's be honest) . But this guy and I stayed in touch and went out a few times despite what my instinct was telling me. Over the last couple of months I found it odd that he only really called or texted during the day. Usually between the hours of 9 to 5...the hours he worked. And our dates usually took place during lunch hour. Now, I don't know what gave this man the impression that I'm a moron. Everything about this situation screamed that he had a girlfriend or wife. So I bluntly asked him, and I haven't heard back from him since. And I know you read this blog fucker, so when you read this, I hope you realized you're an asshole. And you have TERRIBLE game, even Stevie Wonder could see this shit. I also hope you realize you're not good looking enough to get away with that shit, if you die, come back looking like Channing Tatum, then maybe I would be blinded by your good looks and have questionable judgement. Nothing about me screams that I have low self confidence, low morals or daddy issues, so go try your busted up playa playa moves on someone else you turd. And as well, find a more flattering penis pic if you're going to insist on sending them to women, that angle was not your friend. Cashew dick mother fucker.