Tag Archives: sex

Don’t think we can’t see you

I wanted to give some party/club goers a little food for thought:

Just because you don’t make eye contact with us, doesn’t mean we can’t see you. (I’ll get back to this in a moment)

A few weeks ago myself and some girlfriends from high school went out to celebrate Andrea’s bachelorette (the wedding is on the 3rd of July…really excited). It was rainy yet wonderfully hot so we all were in a great mood. After enjoying a few pints and listening to a local artist an amazing decision was made to go to a dance club so that we could pull out our A moves.

See A moves:

Next: Please notice the couple behind my beautiful friend Amie.

1) They are holding hands

2) If you could see her face, she was a little mortified…but into it

3) He’s whispering in her ear

4) They are trying to act cool and as if no one could notice them…EVERYONE noticed them

Now what you don’t see, is that at one point it appeared as though her skirt hiked up and his pants unzipped. What’s that all about? There we were at Ange’s Bach party dancing our tail feathers off when we looked over and witnessed gross ‘public private touching’.

The thing is – and what scares me a little – I think this may be a common practice for some people, young people in particular. I think this because no one was all that surprised, not one of us. We all just laughed really hard and thought it would probably be some good content.

So, to all those risk takers and ‘public private touchers’…maybe find a corner? a bathroom stall perhaps? Because my young friends if you’re on the dance floor – we can see you, we all can see you.


When I was their age…

Somehow over the last few years, I’ve managed to put a halo over my head in most of my memories from my early 20s.  The truth is…maybe my halo wasn’t as levitated as I thought it was, and maybe I had some devil horns as well.

This past Saturday I celebrated ‘Spontaneous Saturday’. It was the first Saturday in a long time, that I had no plans, and was open to doing whatever.

After a 2 hour dance lesson (I’m working on a goodbye Tango because I’m leaving my dance studio), I went home, got dolled up and met up with my friend Reesa at the St. Lawrence Market. We reminisced about how we met in high school and all of the people that we have in common, went for some drinks, had an appetizer, and sent ourselves home at a nice hour before we got out of hand – it was 7:00pm after all.

I touched base with my friend Annie to check out the plan and was on the fence about going out that evening. It took one more call from her and the peer pressure broke me and I was on board.

We headed to the bar around 11:30pm. When we got there, we made our way through the swarms of youngin’s (19-24) and stood near the end of the bar and watched as these two girls danced on the bar as if they were getting paid to do it.  Looking like they stepped right out of The Hill’s, these girls went to town on the bar. They had these cute, scandalous, mini dresses on that were so tight, that I asked Annie if she thought they had panties on.

Her response – she looked up, smirked and said “well…we’re about to find out”. I turned around and the girls were squatting on the bar while making licking faces at strange boys.

What’s that about? These girls were on a train straight to Sexytown, and I had Spanx on. Yes…I just admitted that – I felt like a whale when I was getting dressed, so I cheated. Is this the difference between them and me? I thought to myself. Am I such a grandma now that I go to a club wearing SPANX? – Apparently!

In truth, in my younger years, I was a wee bit wilder than I am now (I only got Spanx for this amazingly tight ‘Joanie from Mad Men’ type dress).


1) I’ve danced on many-a-bar, but I was not on the Sexytown train. I love dancing. Technically, I’m a dancer. If I’ve ever been sexy while dancing, it was a)  a joke (I tend to find myself funny),  or b) not on purpose.

2) I’ve taken pole-dancing lessons and I want to take more. BUT that does not mean that I’m going to put on a serious show in front of people.

3) If I’m dancing with a dude who can actually dance, I’ll get into it. But it’s for the love of dance, not for the sake of ‘picking-up’.

However, it wasn’t just the ladies, men too felt were feeling all sexed up that night. They all seemed to have the need to touch you as you walked by them. Caress your arm, reach out for your stomach, use every “you’re beautiful” line in the book. Pretty much, 90% of the people at the bar had one main goal.

Get laid, and get laid tonight.

At first I was all in a huff about all of the ‘out-there’ sex that EVERYONE was exerting at the bar that night, but then I took my halo covered glasses off and realized I was full of BS. They were a little more out there (well, a lot more) than I was, but they were no worse than the American girls I’d see when I worked at a bar in Windsor. That’s for damn sure!


I have to admit, I am a bit of a facebook whore. I post my blog every time I make an entry. I make random little jokes and send well wishes to friends. I have about a million photo albums – some may say it’s a bit too much.

And for the most part, I enjoy reading peoples statuses on facebook. Some people are down right hilarious.  Plus, facebook is an amazing way to get caught up on someones life, that otherwise you would have no idea what was going on.

That said, I do not believe that facebook is a place to air all your dirty laundry/personal business. See below:

What’s that all about? If I ever posted anything even close to that and my mom read it,  I’m pretty sure she would drive up from Windsor, pound down my door, grab me by the back of my ear, walk me over to the wall and make me sit on my knees facing the wall for about an hour. Then I’d have to write an essay about respecting myself. And you know what…I would deserve it.

Is there such a thing as class anymore?

Wow…that was a rant. If you have a little time and are looking for a giggle, go to Lamebook. This site goes through facebook and posts all the ridiculous status updates and uploaded pictures in one spot. Amazing way to procrastinate.