So yeah, Spring finally showed up, yay! So yesterday I walked around Leslieville in the blinding sun for a couple of hours while Mike the Mechanic changed my winter tires and performed some other tender loving things to my precious box that is a Scion XB, filter and oil change, et cetera. I window shopped and drifted into some stores, taking street #selfies because that is my hobby.  I went to get a drink at one point and I stopped dead in my tracks because parked on the street in front of The Pumps was the car of a dreaded ex-fuckarrhea. It is bad enough running into an ex-lover-type in a controlled environment but most horrifying when you are off-guard, TAKING PICTURES OF YOURSELF like a douchette in front of THE BONE HOUSE  because you think it would make a funny cover for your fake on-line magazine/dumb blog. I looked around but I couldn’t see him BECAUSE THE BULLSHIT SUN WAS BLINDING but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see me wherever he was so I took a quick shot (it was too bright for the letters to show up! Damn you, sun!) and stealthily headed back to the mechanic shop. I don’t really care if he sees me, looking like crap with #nomakeup, as time has healed that particular wound into an invisible but tiny, jagged scar in the bottom left hand corner of my calcified heart that I sometimes pick at when I go too far deep-sea diving into the ocean of #sadz, which is hardly ever, but I would just HATE running face up into him and if he was with his new generic wife and then it would be all fight or flight flustered. Since I am entirely made up of chicken shit and apple cider vinegar, I would probably say something rude while running into traffic. Thank Hayzoos there was no encounter and the only person I ran into blocks away was my little soul sister, Ania, who works the front desk at my gym, and she was on her way to her shift.  We squealed with glee when we saw each other.  Isn’t it funny when you have a sparkly connection with someone who is from a whole different generation? I could have even given birth to her if I was prolific enough to have boned her father when I was 21.

“OMG! Your hair is so shiny!” (that’s me).

“Your hair is so shiny, too!” Her.

“You’ll never guess what I use!” Me.

“I bet I know…” Her.

“APPLE CIDER VINEGAR!” Both of us in unison. Apple cider vinegar a frugal lady’s best beauty secret. We laughed, high fived, and then went about our ways. And then I tripped over a streetcar track because I was wearing flip flops. THAT is the first sign of spring as far as I am concerned.

Last weekend I downloaded all three seasons of the HBO-comedy series “Hung.”  José, the butcher, recommended to me last week as I am a power-tv-watching champion and I finished Downtown Abbey (embarrassing) and American Horror Story, Season 1 (awesome). I’m IMDB-ing “Hung” for you so you can check it out but if you are too weak to click, I will give you a quick synopsis: Ray is a forty-something high school gym teacher/coach who is divorced with a twin teenage son and daughter, moves into his parents sweet retro cottage-style home that he inherits but doesn’t insure. There’s a fire and enough damage that he has to live in a tent in the backyard which is by a lake…OMG, I love his little house, even half wrecked, it’s like real estate porn for me!  You can have your Downton Abbey drafty mansion but give a tiny bungalow and I will be a happy lady of the cabin-with-the-screened-in porch. SIGH! Anyway, he has to build it back himself but because he is poor American teacher in Detroit, he needs to supplement his income! He has an awkward one-night stand with Tanya, a hippie guest poetry teacher who happens to be in one of those Learning Annex-type business development classes he takes to figure out how to make more money, and he ends up fucking her again (even more badly) because HIDDEN CHEMISTRY… somehow they decide his GINORMOUS dick is his shtick that he needs to market. Ray becomes a man ho, and Tanya is his lady pimp. They call themselves HAPPINESS CONSULTANTS. The synopsis sounds far-fetched but it’s played out brilliantly and makes you think it’s all very plausible. At least I do.

I spent the entire weekend watching all three seasons. The weather outside was shite so I stayed in my jammies and took to the bed. JUST ONE MORE EPISODE, I kept saying, I neglected to shower, ate raw food, I was so consumed in this show.  Not since the “Breaking Bad” 48-hour power-watch of January 2012 have I gotten so lost in a tv screen. Last year I wanted so badly to make crystal meth in my basement with my tenant who loves Heisenberg even more than me. He would be Walter and I would his Jessie, this landlady don’t give a fuck. Buck the system! It didn’t happen though, he had better things to do like build a back deck, so don’t go calling the DEA or the RCMP or whoever. The only dodgy thing in the basement is a nest of snakes and I never want to go down there ever again.

NEVER MIND THE METH, NOW I WANT TO BE A LADY PIMP! Specializing in that untapped niche market of men servicing women.  Why is this not a popular thing? I have no idea. I’m going to brainstorm some ideas with you, so stifle your judgements while we go through this.

Now on “Hung,” Ray is played by Thomas Jane, who is a handsome All American JCrew-type rocking his forties. He is like a unicorn because he will bone a woman of any age. We all know that in real life, a forty-something man who looks like that always has that arrogant self-entitled pickiness where he would only bang twenty-year bikini models. Let’s face it, women that young are not going to be paying customers. Disgruntled wives, cat ladies, and cougars with their mojo on overdrive with some money to burn are the ones who would pay for the service. I know I would if I wasn’t making up this business plan. But I think if I am going to have some man hos working for me, they would have to be in their twenties just based on boner power, willingness, and stamina. Let’s not kid ourselves, it’s a young man’s game.

And does a man ho have to be well-hung for this career? In my humble opinion, NO! Now that I am old and have seen a variety of penii, I don’t really care about the size. Or girth or whatever the fashion is of the moment. They all have their own personalities and stuff to bring to the table. The penis needs to be demystified if I’m going to be peddling it.

First of all, you can’t tell just by looking at a dude’s hands or feet what size he is. It’s like sometimes when you know a guy and go to his house to meet his dog (not a euphemism) and you think he’s going to have one of those cute Lab/Shepherd crosses and it turns out he has a frightening looking Chinese Crested and you are completely repulsed and you really don’t want to pet it. Or you expect a Jack Russell and you get a Great Dane. Now I am speaking in metaphors: The truth is that as majestical and horse-like a Great Dane is, they only have a life expectancy of 8 years as do other giant breeds, whereas a Jack Russell will be jumping around like a puppy for twice that long. Just saying.

Helmets versus Rockets. If a North American man is of a certain age, born in the 1970s or earlier, he is more likely to be circumcised than not and women of the Sex and the City-era are used to this helmet look to the point where they would shudder in horror if they saw an uncut one. This infuriates me. In praise of rockets, I like me some extra foreskin. Since I was a toddler, I had tactile OCD habits and I would carry my blankie around and run my fingers along the satin edging until it completely wore out. Uncircumcised dicks are an OCD girl’s best stress toy, they remind me of these fun snake water tubes where they slide up and down in your grip and you never want to let go. So. Much. Fun.

I know men have some insecurities about their dicks for whatever reason and they just want approval and for a woman to look at it and say it is the most magnificent thing she has ever seen. For me though, the first time I see a man’s dick, I am going to be shocked no matter what. I’m never prepared for the strange colour, the bulging veins, the shock of pubes or even lack of pubes. But then I gradually get used to it and then it will grow on me. It’s never going to be a love at first sight scenario so just be patient and introduce it gently. The only dick that doesn’t scare the beejezus out of me is my Remainder Man’s (you know, my strictly platonic male friend I go on about ad nauseam who parks his trailer in my backyard and takes me out for beer and wings and cuts down my shrubs, blah blah, etc). Before he became civilized and had all the fun whipped out of him by his heinous girlfriend, he had the most hilarious habit of pulling out his penis in public and slapping it on top of the bar like a floppy eel. I know you’re thinking how vulgar, what about the children, he is a pervert and should be charged with public indecency, etc…Relax, hardly anyone saw and his dick is so friendly and non-threatening, you just want to pet it.  In fact it reminds me of my wiggly little dog, Betty. So cute.

So for my Happiness Consulting business (shhh, not lady pimp, this is legit), I would have to hold auditions. Must have dick power but I am more interested in finger and tongue action, those are the gateway tools into a woman’s pleasure zone. So dudes, if you are up for a new career and want to pay of your students loans in a hurry, you know to how to contact me…and ladies (you know who you are), I’ll keep you posted and in the meantime go get a bikini wax and here’s a cute puppy to put you in a happy mood and you know I’m just kidding about all of this, right?  #notreally #callme