The Tree Pee for Ladies

The Basics of Bush Peeing

The Basics of Bush Squatting

(Lady leisure GOES where most people won’t. Giving you the inappropriate and uncomfortable topics you want. And need. Similar to TMZ or Fox News, except she’s not a vulture and people seem to like her.)

Last week, I was “on the road” with Jack, observing his workers and conducting some important safety shit. On the road sounds like either a fun road trip or playing in traffic. These are almost true, but there’s no Taylor Swift tunes, rest stops, or signs warning motorists to “Give Our Kids a Brake“. Naturally, you may conclude that a pregnant woman cannot “hold it” for 13-14 hours straight. Nature MUST call, and she does so approximately every 2 hours. To the single ladies, married ladies, or even “it’s complicated” ones, this one’s for you.

Bush squatting can be a dangerous task.  Although it has been around for centuries, if you don’t pay attention you could just not make it out of the woods alive, or worse – with pee on you. Here are the basics for a successful tree pee:

1. Mentally prepare for your heroic journey.

2. Don’t forget some form of wiping accessory. Tuck it into your pocket or shirt sleeve.

3.  When you think you are out of male eyeshot, walk two metres deeper into the forest.

4. WATCH your step. Wildlife share your el baño.

5. Warm up your quads, or recruit a tree to pull you back out of your squat.

6. Widen your stance and find a mossy area to avoid splash-back or direct hits to your pant leg.

7. Evaluate: celebrate successes, and create an action plan for future journeys.

By the end of our road trip I was going in the steep ditch with no tree cover while Jack looked on with horror. What? Sometimes, you have to scrap the basics and improvise.

Lady Leisure: going where most people won’t.

Outies Ain’t “In”

Jewel encrusted chunk of metal

Jewel encrusted chunk of metal that was once a bunch of shirt lint.

The belly button or tummy button: a part also known as the navel. The latter being a word I only use to describe oranges.

The belly button begins as the umbilical cord- the ultimate lifeline between mother and fetus in the womb through which nutrients and blood are circulated. After birth, the remainder of the cord simply turns black and falls off (gross) and what is left is no longer a functional body part, aside from inadmissible, yet inevitable lint storage.

My 18 month old niece is able to point out her belly button, and if you aren’t careful she will lift your shirt and reveal a not so young and cute, and perhaps slightly furrier version.

When I was a young “skinny b!tch”, my belly button was almost flush with my abdomen rather than indented. My sister once rattled my chains for this and I never understood why having an “innie” or an “outie” had any relevancy. . . until my sister got her belly button pierced. I slowly came to the realization that the belly button had some apparent functional sex appeal. A sexy, colorful jewel encrusted chunk of metal that was once a bunch of shirt lint.

Now that I’m finely aged, I get it. Belly buttons are not at all sexy and they serve no purpose. Additionally, it’s not funny when someone puts their finger in there by accident or by 18-month-old curiosity. It feels weird, like someone is touching your spine from the inside.

My belly is getting HUGE (in a skinny b!tch kind of way). Not only does my tailbone hurt, because I’m sure the baby’s head is the size of the moon, and I can feel my uterus stretching and contracting, but my belly button is dangerously close to becoming an “outie”. This could be the end of the world. The only “outie” I can imagine myself being OK with is of the car variety (Audi).

Simply put: Outies are “out” and innies are “in”.

When Women Get Man Colds

Man Cold

Everyone, including Nyquil commercials jokingly refer to the “Man Cold” and how pitiful even the strongest of men becomes with a scratchy throat and unending mucus reserves. I want to say that I am not a hero when it comes to the jerk-hole symptoms of the Common Cold and Flu (because sometimes we just don’t know which one has us in its death grip). This act of un-heroism was never more evident than this past week when my whining surpassed that of a 2-year-old male toddler who missed his afternoon nap . . . for 3 days in a row. Sometimes you just want to slap them, but you can’t because they are only two, OR they are yourself.

In my defence, I had a rough week of sleeping and watching television, mixed in with ultrasound and blood screen appointments. It was just a nightmare. If the walking germ transporter and source of my illness (my 17mo old niece) wasn’t so darn cute and kissable, I would almost be disappointed in her choice of spray sneezing on my cell phone.

I have channeled any of my remaining energy into compiling these miserable text messages to my beloved.

I really did; it was oatmeal.

I really did; it was oatmeal.

Fever. . . now ultrasound bladder talk.

Fever. . . now ultrasound bladder talk.

Legit complaint: The tech hit a nerve in the first arm and she had to move the needle around like a merry go round to find some damn blood in the second.

Legit complaint: The tech hit a nerve in the first arm and she had to move the needle like a merry-go-round to find a vein in the second. I am either blood-less or she is just another person who isn’t meeting my low expectations of not sucking.

In my honest opinion? I peed myself.

In my honest opinion? It was pee.

Lady Leisure’s ‘Spread the Laugh’ Series


Share YOUR Story with Lady Leisure

Have a funny story about an unfortunate event that happened to you? Email and your story could be published on the blog for our following of strangers to read, laugh, point, and share with their buddies. Each week, Lady Leisure will choose a broad topic (or two). If you have a story relating to the topic in some fashion, submit it and it could be posted to the blog.

If your unfortunate tale doesn’t relate to the topic of the week and you’re desperate to share, send it in anyway! We will use your story, first name, and location unless you state you would prefer to remain anonymous. Please be aware Lady Leisure will not post anything TOO inappropriate or offensive, but sometimes the good stories are the inappropriate ones.

Spread the Laugh, encourage your friends to do the same, and we’ll all be slapping our knees for weeks to come!

This week’s topics are: “Labour Day” and “School”.

Lady Leisure’s Brush with Death

One of the stickers stuck on me for an experimental Frankenstein procedure.

One of the stickers stuck on me for an experimental Frankenstein procedure.

Approximately three weeks ago, I was slaughtering my 7lb 10oz zucchini with the food processor to subsequently bake some deadly double chocolate zucchini cake, when I suddenly felt hungry. This was the kind of hunger that puts a pregnant woman into a deep desperation. When I say it was sudden onset I mean one second I was whistling, and the next I was “HANGRY”. I switched tasks in order to make myself a sandwich. As my desperation grew, my stomach lurched, and my world began falling apart into dark, fuzzy dots.

I thought to myself, “SHIT, I’m going down.”

I crawled to the toilet to potentially vomit or have a bowel movement (whichever came first; I was not prepared for simultaneous explosions).

 “This is it: the end. People who pass away usually throw up and shit their pants as they die.”

I became increasingly confused and felt as though I was seconds away from passing out, so I called Jack. I can’t remember our conversation other than saying I felt weird and needed help. He was an hour away and could not be my knight in shining armour, so he stressed the necessity that we hang up so he could call an ambulance.


As quickly as my medical emergency developed, it unfolded and faded into the past. I Googled “fainting what to do” and I slid out to the living room and laid down on my LEFT side. I then got a call from a 9-1-1 dispatcher.

Dispatcher: “Your husband has called you an ambulance; how are you feeling?”

Lady Leisure: “Oh, you can cancel that. I’m feeling fine, thanks.”

Dispatcher: “Ma’am, the ambulance has already been dispatched and I’m told they are on their way.”

Lady Leisure: “Well the thing is, I don’t have insurance and I don’t want to pay for an ambulance.”

Dispatcher: “I don’t know much about that, but you should allow them to at least check you out and you can decide whether they take you for a ride or not.”

Lady Leisure: (Reluctantly) “Fine.”

The dispatcher and I had a grand ol’ time as we awaited the arrival of EMS. I tried to get her off the phone so we could free up the line for a “real emergency”, but she refused my logic.

The paramedic and EMT took my blood pressure, temperature, pricked my finger, and stuck stickers on my arms and legs like I was some sort of pin cushion or first aid manikin experiment.

The verdict? Low blood pressure and sugar. I am anxiously awaiting the invoice for a diagnosis in which a confused, half dead pregnant woman had figured out on her own for free. This baby’s a REAL d!ck.

I’m F@cking Offended That You’re Offended

The offspring of Generation X; the "Spoiled, Offended Generation".

The offspring of Generation X; the “Spoiled, Offended Generation”.

This had to be said by someone at some point, and Lady Leisure seems to be good at offending others, so here it is. I’m laying it all out for you.

I’m annoyed with people who are offended by humor. I’m fed up with individuals who cover their child’s ears when someone innocently lets a swear slip. To put it bluntly, I’m sick of society’s shit; and here’s why:

Our generation (Generation X) was the first one not to get physically abused by our teachers in school. We had it good. We rode our bikes without helmets and played in our yards and neighborhoods without fear. As girls, we played games like kick the can and hopscotch, wrote in our diaries, started babysitter clubs, and gossiped until the cows came home. When we got a bit older, we experimented with alcohol in our parents’ basements and read magazine articles about sex. When we didn’t hand in our homework, we effectively received a big fat “zero” on the assignment. If we didn’t study for an exam or pay attention in class, our grades reflected that behaviour. And you know what? We learned from our mistakes and tried harder next time. We realized these tough lessons in grade school so we could be functioning members of society as we grew into adulthood.

Although bullying has sadly always been around, not one of us was “offended” by the fair and just repercussions of our actions, and life was kosher. The world was a better place before social media, internet networking/marketing, and technology ruled the world.

So here we are approximately 15-20 years later, and life is EASY for most of the offspring of Generation X (too easy, if you ask me). We became adults and somehow forgot what it was like to be a kid growing up in the 80’s and 90’s and how fun and discipline played equal roles in our childrearing. We owe the discipline we received from all the adults in our lives for our current successes. But, we no longer understand balance. Some of us will let our children do anything they want, including the allowance to disrespect authority, because we feel our parents were too hard on us. Others will not allow our children to do or try anything, for fear of them getting hurt, offended, or WORSE.

I am not yet a parent and I will not tell you how to raise your child. What I will do, is give my opinion on what will stop the current generation from being referred to in the future as the “spoiled, offended generation”. Give your kids a break and start acting like a parent. Discipline them when they portray unacceptable behaviour. Let them watch a movie with crude language and nudity under your supervision.  Take away their tablet and kick them outside for fresh air and a bike ride. In true Lady Leisure form, teach them how to tell a mean “Knock Knock “ joke and how to display wit with ease. Don’t try to be there to catch them BEFORE they fall; just ensure you’re present to dust them off AFTER and say, “Great try, let’s continue practicing/studying/working hard to make next time even better.”

10 Rules For Not Appearing Like a Complete D!ck

The "dead fish" handshake is out.

The “dead fish” handshake is out.

I sit here impatiently waiting for another deadbeat not to show up for his interview. By now, 25 minutes have passed since the time set (in stone) for our face-to-face meeting, and even though the little jerk has my phone number, I have yet to receive a call saying, “I’m lost”, “I got another job”, “Go f*ck yourself”, or otherwise.

I have to be honest, one time when it was still legal to talk on your cell phone while driving, I was 10 minutes late for an interview. In my defence, I had to work another job that day which happened to be 2 hours away from the meeting point, and I called the interview organizer 30 minutes in advance to notify her of my impending tardiness. I got the job.

Here are 10 Written and Unwritten (until now) Rules For Not Appearing Like a Complete Dick to a potential employer:

1.) Shower & Groom Yourself
– Self-explanatory; I don’t want to smell your odours.

2.) Show Up On Time & Prepared
– Have a phone number or email address handy to contact me if something happens.
– Prepare some excuses ahead of time too. (See “My Dog Ate My Homework and Other Excuses”)

3.) Look Me In the Eye and Shake My Hand Like You Mean It
– I may be a woman, but I don’t appreciate the dead fish/wet noodle.
– You’re here proving to me that you can lift 50lbs on site and that I can trust you, not that you’re sensitive to my fragility.

4.) Don’t Be a Dumb Ass (Socially)
– Tell me your skills, relevant experience, and why you’re a good fit for our company.
– Don’t talk my ear off about your dog, wife, and how I remind you of someone you once knew.

5.) Don’t Be a Dumb Ass (Intellectually)
– You are an adult. Act like an adult.
– Show me you are capable of solving your own problems.

6.) Answer My Questions Like a Champ
– Be forthcoming and complete with your answers.
– “YEAH” is a song by Joe Nichols, and although it’s a good one, it’s not doing you any favours.

7.) Ask me Questions
– This will make you seem smart and will prevent unpleasant surprises once you start work.

8.) Don’t Ask For More Than What You’re Worth to Us
– The economy is slow which means the employer has the upper hand. We are searching for unskilled labourers to get shit done. I refuse to pay you $30 an hour because you’re an EMT; this is irrelevant to our line of business.
– I have a mother-f’ing degree and I get paid an administrative assistant hourly rate.
– And I’m sleeping with the boss.

9.) Thank Me For My Time
– I took the time to review your resume, call you and give you the opportunity to sell yourself to our company – give me some props here.

10.) Don’t Waste my Time
– If you’re not interested, tell me right away.
– I’m not your date and I won’t get offended that you don’t want to see me anymore, so don’t evade my calls for shit sake!

Show up for your first day of work and keep showing up. It’s long hours and hard work, but your pay cheque is going to reflect this apparent hell.

Now, get out there and make Lady Leisure proud!

My Kids Don’t Live Here – Part 2

Who can we thank for this?

Who can we thank for this?

When I first spotted the black spray paint on the unwanted sign in our neighbourhood, I momentarily felt sorry for the passive aggressive individuals who thought it necessary to spend their hard earned money on a sign that would only be doomed from the start. All I can say is we didn’t do it, but as mentioned in My Kids Don’t Live Here I believe this vandalism to be well-targeted. The criminal could have had more of an imagination although, a happy face is sort of rad. I say “person” because I believe this to be not the work of an angry youth, but the result of an adult pushed too far by the actions of others and the booze in their veins.

This leaves me wondering, “What are the next steps?”

The reaction of the sign owners was to turn the entire wooden structure around so that the happy face is smiling in the other direction – but this only showcases the artwork to more of the neighborhood.

The perpetrator(s) will only escalate and soon the signs will be beyond recognition or repair. The only logical solution will be to take down the signs that should never have been posted in the first place.

Perhaps a more appropriate (and less blinding) Alberta Transportation regulated sign will take their place.

Caution: Children Playing.”

It has a nice and less demanding ring, don’t you think?

Impulse Buys; Not DUI’s

Garage Sales: Trade your shit for cash.

Garage Sales: Trade your shit for cash.

Garage sale season is upon us and if this were the past couple of seasons, I would be PUMPED! Now the wedding is over and my house is full of absolute crap. It’s borderline hoarder crap, most of which I would be embarrassed to donate to the less fortunate. I want to turn it into a pot of gold just as much as the next guy, but you know what? That’s just not feasible.

If you’re wondering how many people actually sell their shit and make loads of moola, I estimate the rate to be approximately  +/- 0 out of 10. If you’re counting the hours of labour dedicated to pricing, cleaning, and counting, you’re looking at a net loss. Even if you recruit the neighbors’ kids to man the garage while you tan on the deck, you’re still out the cost of ice cream. And now you have to somehow attach a horn to a horse’s head because they were clever enough to know Unicorns do not exist, but were still convinced that Uni-horses thrive in our arid climate.

What I’m saying is: don’t waste your time unless you’re desperate. If you hear the voice of desperation knocking at your door, here’s how to exchange your crap for enough small coins to roll around in them. But everyone knows coins SOMEHOW have feces all over them, so please don’t forget your Purel.

1) Toss everything into the “sell” pile. People will buy ANYTHING if it is priced under $1.

2) Don’t bother with price tags. Let the customers believe they drive a hard bargain and out of guilt they will pay more for another item.

3) To draw more people to your sale, note “antique” or “rustic” items in your advertisement. You’re probably old enough that college text book is considered antique anyway.

4) Sell items as a “lot”. Pair up desirable items with less desirable ones and price the box based on the desirable item. Yes, you’re giving stuff away, but now it can junk up someone else’s house.

5) Serve booze – but only enough for impulse buys, not DUIs. The good news is you won’t be driving so you can drink as much as you desire.

The most important thing to remember is not to bet your first born’s college fund on the possibility that you’re actually going to have a successful sale.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a yard sale to prepare for because our garage smells like garbage and has a wasp infestation in the attic.

All Decked Out

My pretty new deck. (Now I don't have to get Jack to boost me into the house by my butt).

My pretty new deck. (Now I don’t have to get Jack to boost me into the house by my butt).

It took a week, a flat of beer, multiple trips to the hardware store, and a couple of bro-mance phone calls to my brother, but Jack has built us a new deck BY HIMSELF. I’m not sure if he can say it was completely a solo mission because I did fetch beer, cheese, pepperoni sticks, and sandwiches for my husband while he worked in the hot sun for hours on end. Being Lady Leisure, I often offered words of encouragement like, “what’s taking you so long?” and “that doesn’t look right”. I also candidly photographed his progress to share with all of you.

I made sure I took pictures of all the f-ups and Macguivers because this is just what I do.

Perhaps out of pity or in a drunken stupor my brother (who should be on the show “Brojects”) gave his official seal of approval on the deck. But there is a possibility that Jack did a good job and he should be upgraded to “Jack of ALL Trades”. Of course, I’m not ready for that.

It was around this point where he realized he couldn't rip 1" off a board, so he took to re-spacing ALL the boards.

It was around this point where Jack realized he couldn’t rip 1″ off a board, so he took to re-spacing ALL the boards.

Building a deck

Safety First! After much deliberation on whether the railing should be an innie or an outie, Jack finally decided on the latter.

Measure once, cut 3 times. Jack is cursing his decision to do an outside railing.

Measure once, cut 3 times. Jack is cursing his decision to do an outside railing.

alien arm

Lady Leisure “helping” by entertaining herself while her husband builds the deck alone.

Lady Leisure likes to point out imperfections

Lady Leisure likes to point out imperfections

Still not spaced evenly.

Still not spaced evenly.

The burnt spot on the lawn from when Jack used a frayed extension cord for his tools.

The burnt spot on the lawn from when Jack used a frayed extension cord for his tools and it caught on fire.