The time that I got a sex toy taken away



Sometimes I think that I have no shame. So many people have told me that I have no shame, that I’ve started to believe it. Not much phases me. Normally I can brush things off easily and move on. Growing up with my dad, it’s a skill that I had to learn. Especially when he would hear a mall alarm go off and he would take off sprinting while everyone stared and you either had to run with him or pretend you didn’t notice him. Anyway. I’m pretty sure that I have next to no shame. Especially after the time a security guard at Heathrow Airport pulled a sex toy out of my bag.

You see, on night in Wales I was packing to fly home for winter break. My teammates and friends were coming over to my place to help me carry my bags to my bus and see me off. My backpack was stuffed with my hoodie, a couple of books that I needed for a research paper, and my bags were more or less packed. I was excited to be going home. My room was even clean so that I would come back to a tidy room!

There was also a sex toy out on my desk and my door was opening and my friends and teammates were about to walk in.

In a panic I grabbed my sex toy and jammed it into my backpack.

I didn’t remember the toy in my backpack until I was going through airport security the next day. I had just pulled my laptop out and put it in a bin with my phone and send my backpack through the scanner ahead of my boots that were in a bin of their own. Usual airport stuff right?

Then I was asked to step aside so my bag could be searched. I’ve had my bags go through random searches more than a few times so I knew the drill. I stepped off to the side and stood by quietly while the security officer went through my bag.


Compartment, by compartment my Swiss Army bag was opened and sifted through. My knick knacks and thingamajigs were pulled out and examined. My hoodie was tugged free and set aside. My comfy socks were tossed on top of my hoodie. Item by item, the security officer looked at my things while I patiently waited because there was nothing else for me to do. For the record: Swiss Army backpacks are basically Mary Poppins bags on steroids. Those things will hold everything plus a clunky Buick.

Until he pulled a bright purple vibrator from my bag.

My jaw dropped.


It was then I learned that I still had some shame left in me as this poor man gingerly held up a thing that was essentially a big, purple dick and asked me what it was. I heard someone gasp behind me. This man was making no secret that he had found something in my bags. He asked me again what the grape coloured, one-eyed monster was that he was holding between his thumb and forefinger. He knew what it was. The way he was holding it away from himself made it obvious. He was holding it like it was a snapping turtle that was about to attach itself to his nose and never let go. I honestly thought the airport was about to turn into that scene from Monsters Inc when that one monster had a sock on its back.

I didn’t want to make a scene so I told him it was a vibrator.

He told me I couldn’t keep it.

I didn’t fight him on it.

I quietly thanked him for his time while giving thanks that no one could see me blushing even though I wanted to crawl under a rock and hide. Then I packed everything back into my backpack while staring longingly at what was my favourite toy. It had taken me so long to find a toy that I loved like I loved that one. It was also damn expensive so I was sad to see it go.

After that day I learned to double check my bags before heading off to the airport. Now I know to never travel with anything that I wouldn’t want airport security to publicly confiscate. I also generally try to remember not to have sex toys sitting out when friends come over to avoid frantically hiding them.


Turning grey



Lately I’ve been trying to live more frugally so that I can continue to indulge my habit for buying expensive plane tickets. So I’ve cut back on lots of things. I don’t buy as many nuggets, I drive less to save on gas, I’m careful to only buy food that I need, and I no longer get my lady bits waxed. I’m also avoiding the urge to dye my hair lately.

Now if you know me, you know that I have the maturity of a 12-year-old boy.

If you know my mom, you know that she has aged extremely well. She’s in her 50’s, but I’ve seen people mistake her for late 30’s. My mother is aging with much grace and dignity.

Me on the other hand?

Not so much.

I’ve spent the last two years plucking a grey hair that has insisted on growing on my left temple. It would grow. I would pluck it. It would eventually grow back and I would pluck it again. Early grey hair is a thing on my dads side of the family and I had inherited that fun trait. So I waged a 2 year battle with this one grey hair that insisted on growing. It became my cat that came back the very next day.


Until this year when two more grey hairs joined the one that I had been waging a war against. At first I tried plucking all three of them. Except they would all grow back. They would grow back faster. Within weeks of plucking they would come back sparkling and happy. I would look in the mirror and they would be there, glittering away.

So I gave up. Now I’m letting them grow. I have made peace with my hair glitter.

Bring on the silver fox look!


At least this is how I felt until I went to maintain my lady garden last week and discovered a grey hair. I had taken my first swipe with the razor and examined the blades, as is my habit, and saw…glitter. One lonely piece of shining, sparkling, vibrant, silver among all of my dark carpet that matches my dark drapes. Except now my dark drapes with specks of silver now had a matching dark carpet with a speck of silver to match.

I frantically finished shaving and every time I would shave a stripe off I would search for more grey. I found none. There was just one lonely grey in my lady garden.

Now I’m writing this with most of the same horror that I felt last week when I initially found that my dark and silver drapes had a matching dark and silver carpet. I’m honestly not ready to be a silver fox!

And that’s ok.

I am vain and that’s ok.

I’ve decided that I am allowed to be vain and pluck my silver threading. Even if I somehow pluck myself bald. Then when the silver threading turns into salt and pepper shenanigans, it’ll be ok to dye my hair. I’m allowed to be crazy, insecure, and weird about these sorts of things. I am not ready to look my age and that’s ok.

I plan to age gracefully like my mother, even if I have to do it artificially. One shaved grey pube at a time if I must.

I learned how to do my makeup!



In my last post I wrote about how I do my makeup. It involves me repeatedly checking myself in the mirror to see if I still resemble a human being and more or less hoping for the best. I honestly have never had a clue about what I’ve been doing and based what I was doing off a lot of makeup how-to videos and seeing my friends do their own makeup. This resulted in me doing weird things, having no idea why I was doing these weird things and sometimes the end result would leave me looking like the Ultimate Warrior.

Why was I dabbing this stuff on when I striped this stuff on? I saw someone do circular motions when putting on blush so I always did circular motions when putting on blush. Do I need to make all these faces when putting on eyeliner? Eventually I always just say “fuck it” and just use my fingers to smear everything on because that seems easier than trying to figure out what the sponge thing was for. You know, after I’ve finished my Ultimate Warrior look.

As it turns out, that sponge is a beauty blender and you need to get it wet before you use it.

I learned this from my friend Sheena who is a makeup artist based in the Greater Vancouver Area.

After years of not really knowing what I’m doing and thinking makeup how-to’s lie about how easy it is to put stuff on, I finally decided enough was enough. It was time for me to actually learn about what the hell I was doing and how not to sometimes wind up looking like a WWE wrestler. So I booked a learning session with Sheena. She was nice enough to offer some suggestions and we decided that I would bring my makeup bag over to her place and she would help me learn how to do a couple of basic looks on myself.

In the past, I’ve always had issues with wearing makeup because I feel like I would spend the whole day looking in a mirror and adjusting it. It was never as flawless as I wanted to me. Something always needed to be blended, or running, or smeared. Every time I went near a mirror, I was adjusting something. Of course I would notice more things as lighting changed and…I honestly wasn’t overly confident wearing makeup. It was nice that I could cover my bad skin up, but I was always looking in a mirror and worrying about how I looked.

This is where Sheena comes in.

Before we did anything, she looked at everything that I had in my makeup bag and asked how I used it. She pulled everything out and we talked about why I liked it, what I used it for, and she made a few comments on what she thought of the product. Then she had me start doing my makeup so she could see what I did and…


I very quickly learned that I needed to stop finger painting foundation on to my face. I also learned how to properly use a beauty blender.

Honestly, if that was all I learned that day, I would have been happy. Instead of an awkward smearing of foundation that I would spend the rest of the day blending in with my fingers, I got a flawless, clean look. Sheena applied foundation on half of my face to show me how to use my beauty blender and then had me do the other side to practice what she just showed me. Once I’d gotten done blending in my side, I truly loved how I looked. My skin looked even, blemish free, and not at all cakey or streaky.

But things didn’t end there. I learned how to use my weird eyebrow kit to make my brows look super full, arched, and pretty. Sheena also used some of her products on me, to show me how they worked. She showed me how to use concealer and a contouring kit. Then she helped me apply my favourite lipstick. Everything she showed me, I could easily do on my own. The best part was that everything she showed me, I could pick and choose from. I didn’t have to do everything as a full routine. I could just put foundation on and define my brows for a super cute day look, or I could go a bit further with bold lipstick and a bit of contouring for a glammy night look.


Look by Sheena  Sass by me

Mostly I was super stoked on the fact that I could just spend a few minutes in the morning defining my eyebrows and wind up looking like an uber version of my cuteself. Seriously. It takes me less than 3 minutes to do my eyebrows in the morning and the effect is amazing. I personally think that my eyes look a little bigger and more expressive, and I feel like I look like I just spend an hour doing my makeup when all I really did was brush some powder on my brows.

Honestly, I am so happy that I booked this learning session with Sheena. Not only was she my friend, but she was an utter professional too. She used the tools that I already owned and taught me how to use them confidently. I also left the session feeling like I would never wind up looking like the Ultimate Warrior ever again.

Unless I wanted to.

END NOTE: If you’ve read this far, go check out Sheena’s Instagram, @sheena_mua_. She is a makeup artist based out of the Greater Vancouver Area and is available for bookings.

How I do my makeup



I don’t wear makeup often. I used to wear it daily, but that got old fast because I’m lazy and would rather sleep an extra 15 minutes than do my makeup. I’ve also hit a point in my life where I feel like…I just don’t need to impress anyone. Except myself because sometimes I just really want to be cute. But before, I wore make up because my skin was really bad and it made me feel better to cover it all up. Which means I wore makeup every day.

However, I never actually knew how to put my make up on.

So this is how things would go for me:

I would start by washing my hands because I know where my hands go and I don’t want any of that near my face. Then I would wash my face because I feel like you should start with a clean canvas. After that I would use toner and moisturizer because I like to take care of my face and years of acne has taught me a thing or two about caring for my skin.

Now this is where the fun starts. I would basically start finger painting on my face. I would dot on primer and then smear it all over my face. After that I would use my foundation to paint warrior and then smear it all over my face until it was reasonably blended.

Then I would look in the mirror to see if I still looked human.

Usually I did resemble a human, so I moved on to the next step.


Eyeliner. I carefully use my pencil to line my eyes. The whole time I would be willing myself not to turn my eyeball into some sort of macabre bbq skewer with my pencil. Sometimes it would take a few attempts to get it just right, but it would eventually work!

Then I would look in the mirror to see if I still resembled a human.

And usually I did so I would move on to either adding a little blush or bronzer to my face. Most of the time I would add bronzer because I look better when bronze. Now at this point I had to go slowly and start small. My face would almost be a Rachael Bowser masterpiece and if I got even slightly carried away, then everything would be ruined. Except usually I would mess up and put too much of something on so then I would frantically rub my face to get it off and try to blend it in better. Then I would use tissue to dab my face before using my hands to rub everything in one last time.


Then I would look in the mirror to see if I still resembled a human and I usually did.

At that point I would usually give up because I looked human so I knew that I should quit while I was ahead. If I was feeling particularly brave or industrious, I would add lipstick and call it a day.

And it all worked. My acne would be covered, I would look human, I would feel human, and most importantly, I wouldn’t have stabbed my eye out with an eyeliner.

My super power is cutting onions with my eyes closed



If you know me, you know that my cooking isn’t the best and I am not the most confident person in the kitchen. No one should be surprised when I say my favorite cut is the “rough chop.” Every other type of cut is an inferior type of cutting because it would take me too darn long to do and wouldn’t work out anyway. Or I would accidentally chop a finger off.

The rough chop is the best chop.

Unless I’m cutting onions. Then I dice them like a pro because at one of my jobs, my former boss insisted that I learn to dice an onion “properly”. Mostly because he saw me dicing onions one day and I think it terrified him with how bad I was with a knife. So he showed me how to dice an onion and then stood over me while I perfected my onion dicing skills. Apparently it was imperative that all onions be nicely diced so they would look pretty on a burger bun.

Presentation is everything, after all. Even when you’re working in a tiny burger joint that thought blue cheese was a good idea to stick on burgers.

But that’s another story because I definitely threw up when I learned how blue cheese was made.

Anyway! Back to onion cutting.


Cutting onions makes me cry. It makes a lot of people cry, but it especially makes me cry because I use my onion eyes as an excuse to let any and all emotions out. I’m crying anyway, so I might as well make it a good cry, right? Right.

But sometimes I want to ignore my emotions. I also mostly don’t want that horrible stinging pain that you get in your eyes whenever you cut onions. It’s not a fun feeling because it’s hard to get rid of. Sometimes I’m an idiot and rub my onion juice covered fingers in my eyes and I make it worse. Other times I try splashing water in my eyes and that just makes a mess that I won’t clean up. Then other times I try putting my face in front of a fan because a manager once told me that a cool breeze will help dry onion eyes out. And I believed him so I still do it because the pain is so bad that I’m willing to believe anything even though I quit that job years ago. In my opinion, there is no winning with cutting onions.



Which is exactly what I do. My former boss made me cut so many onions that I’m basically a pro at onion cutting now. I could win championships if there were championships. I am so good at cutting onions that I can cut them with my eyes closed. Literally.

First I chop the ends off and then peel the skins away and cut the onion in half.

Then I just close my eyes and think of England while I chop and dice my onions to perfectly diced pieces. Nothing bad ever happens. I make sure my knife is sharp so the cuts are easy and clean and I just carefully move everything around until the job gets done. I’m confident, I’m positive, I’m upbeat, and gosh darn do I love onions so I need to be a pro at cutting them anyway.

Nothing says professional more than “I can do this with my eyes closed.”

Honestly, cutting onions is one of the few times that I feel truly confident in the kitchen. Which might be why I try to use them in every recipe that I try. Plus they’re tasty. They might be the one thing that adds a little pep to a potentially bland or poisonous meal. I mean…I still have no idea how to use spices, but at least I know how to add onion to almost anything that I make?

We all have our super powers and cutting onions is one of mine.

That and setting fire to soup.

Where the hell is my coconut oil?



 I love coconut oil. It’s so wonderfully versatile and I can use it for lots of things that I normally would use other less convenient things for.

Skin sensitive to most shaving creams? That’s me! I use coconut oil to shave my parts. No bumps. No fuss. And everything winds up silky smooth and wonderfully moisturized. It’s better than using hair conditioner which is what I used to do. It just put my conditioner to shampoo ratios off. It was slightly inconvenient.

My waterproof makeup is actually waterproof? Not an issue because it sure as shit ain’t coconut oil proof. It also keeps me from having to keep makeup remover for the makeup that I rarely wear.

I need an oil to cook my food in? You bet your sweet patootie that I’m reaching for coconut oil.

Dry skin or psoriasis flare up? I’m grabbing coconut oil to moisturize myself.

Lubricant? Yup. Coconut oil works wonderfully. But not with certain sex toys or condoms because coconut oil can break certain materials down. I’ll let you do your google searching on that. I’ve checked and my coconut oil is great with my current toy collection and I love it.

Basically, if duct tape can’t fix it, I think you should try coconut oil.

Which brings me to my main issue. It’s kind of expensive and I can’t bring myself to buy more than one jar at a time. So I’m left randomly toting my lone jar of oil around my home as I need it. Along with the jar I have to carry a clean spoon for scooping out the oil because I know I shouldn’t just be shoving my hand into the jar as I need. I know where my hands have been and I don’t need that in the stuff I rub on to my face and lady garden, and use to make/burn my food.

And because I’m me and usually don’t think things through, my coconut oil is usually in the last place I used it. Kitchen. Bedroom. Bathroom. Car. It’s somewhere. Your guess is as good as mine about where I left it.

Which is exactly why I wound up running out to my car at 11pm one night wrapped in only a bed sheet.


 This happened last week. I got home from personal training and as usual my body didn’t want to move because my trainer is great at what she does. So I laid on my floor and did none of what I should have done. No eating, no showering, no cleaning up the awakard pile of dirty socks that I could see accumulating under my bed. Nothing. It was great.

 Eventually I got up and dragged myself into the shower. As I scrubbed and washed and conditioned I noticed that my legs were…kind of hairy. The patch that I had missed shaving before was even longer and thicker while the rest of my legs had grown a stubble that any 5 o’clock shadow would be jealous of.

I glanced out onto my bathroom counter. No coconut oil. I stepped out of the shower and looked in my room. Nothing. I wandered out into the kitchen and didn’t see a thing. I was already dripping all over my apartment so I did another quick wander and didn’t see my coconut oil. I tried to remember where I last had it, but couldn’t remember where I had left it or used it last.

There was a vague memory of using it on my elbows in my car. Plus it wasn’t in any of its usual places, so by process of elimination, my coconut oil had to be in the car.


 Naked, wet, and alone. I stood in my kitchen and had a very brief debate with myself. I love freshly shaven legs. I was looking for my coconut oil anyway, and I would probably forget about all of this later so…

I wrapped myself up in a bed sheet and ran out to my car in search of my oil. It was 11pm so no one saw me. It was just a dark and empty street with a very vain woman rooting through her car until she found her coconut oil.

Which I found in my gym bag on my passenger seat. Along with a weeks worth of dirty socks.

 That night I shaved my legs and cleaned out my gym bag. That was the extent of my productivity for the rest of the weekend and it was amazing.

Trying to make friends



All my life, my friends have been built in. My younger sister is 15 months younger than me and she’s always been my wingman of mayhem. Then I grew up on a rural area where most of my family lived on the same street as me. Plus I went to a small school so the 5 other people in my grade were instant friends. Then I started playing sports and my teammates became my friends. Basically my whole life has come with friend making opportunities!

Except now that I’m almost a full-blown adult, I don’t have many friend making opportunities. And…I don’t really know how to make friends. Seriously, how does one make friends when you’re no longer in forced group situations where you have to bond with the people around you because you live with them in dorms, are on the same team, or get forced into horrible group projects together?

I have no answer to that question.

So I’ve been winging this “make new friends” thing since the new year.

It mostly happens when I go to the gym because that’s where I’m the most surrounded by people. Which can be awkward because everyone is sweaty, wearing headphones, and occasionally grunting out reps. It doesn’t help that I’m also usually sweaty and occasionally grunting out reps too.


It started with this one lady at the gym who sat next to me one day while I was stretching. She sat next to me to stretch too. We were both sweaty and looked worn out. So I smiled at her while I stretching my groin and she awkwardly smiled back. Before I could work up the courage to say anything, she got up and left. This is basically how all my almost friendships have started at the gym. I smile at someone. They smile back. They move on. I smile at someone else, they smile back, and then they move on too. I look like a serial killer with all of the people that I awkwardly smile at. Or maybe I look like a brown Gym Time Barbie.

Except I’m not a serial killer. Or a brown Gym Time Barbie. I’m just trying to make friends!

Sometimes I just jump right into talking to people.

When I see someone more than a few times and know that they’ve seen me, I wave at them and say hi. Then I shyly ask them how they’re doing. They say they’re doing ok and then they move on. So I wave and say hi to someone else. They usually move on too. Again, I feel like a serial killer awkwardly trying to pick their next victim. I also feel like my gym could totally hire me as a greeter with how great I’ve gotten at saying hi to people.

Except I’m not a serial killer! Or a gym greeter.  I just want to make friends!


Sadly it’s hard to make friends when you’re either smiling weirdly at people or scowling because you’re doing one exercise or another that requires concentration. Smiling is hard when I’m trying lift heavy things and put them down. When I’m doing that I feel like I either look constipated or look ready to actually murder someone.

My resting bitch face game is strong.

All of this just makes making friends harder! Either I’m smiling or I’m scowling and either way I’m convinced that I look like a murderer.

But all of my trying hasn’t been in vain! I’ve managed to strike up a few conversations with one lady who sometimes works out at the same time as me. We usually end at the same time so we chat to each other while we get ready to leave. We laugh about how we struggled through another workout and how it feels good. We make jokes about being sweaty and sore. Then we go on our way. I never thought I would get so excited about consistent small talk with a person, but I am. It’s nice being able to chat with someone at the end of a brutal workout. It’s like having a sister in arms!

Except without the murdering that might come with being sisters in arms. I already feel like a serial killer with all the smiling at strangers that I’ve been doing in 2018.

All of this has taught me that despite my criminology background, I have a very weird concept of what a serial killer looks like. It’s just honestly how I feel with all the smiling and awkward waving at people that I’ve been doing. I’m now probably that weird girl at my gym that everyone is scared of because she always has that weird smile on her face and maybe her face is stuck like that. All of their parents warned them that it would happen and now I am proof that if you make a face then it might get stuck like that. Though if my face were to get stuck anyway, I would want it to get stuck in a friendly smile.

In conclusion: I am 31 years-old and I know how to do lots of things. I can meal prep for myself, do my own laundry, bake a cake as long as it comes from a box, and buy nice wedding gifts for friends. What I don’t know how to do is make friends. Instead I am just that awkward sweaty girl that weirdly smiles at people and randomly waves at others.

So…how do you make friends?