Your holier than thou posts do NOT negate your slutty behavior in high school

Let me start by saying that you all know who you are, I don't need to call you each by name. Lately, I've become nauseated daily by the flood of religious, inspirational, and right-wing posts on Facebook and Twitter. You'd honestly think these people had just done jail time based on the way they've all suddenly "found" God. May I remind you all that this is a social media site, not Beliefnet.com or BibleBelt.net? If I wanted to read bible verses, I'd actually pick up one of the bibles in my house and read it. Yet, scrolling down my feed, I am seeing posts from people who couldn't remember the Preamble to the Constitution for school, who can now quote everything that Jesus and the bible boys have ever said. Total dumb shits who now fancy themselves deep thinkers, are copy and pasting inspirational photos and quotes from sappy websites. And quite possibly the best ones, are the folks posting all the right-wing, anti-abortion, right-to-life, God Hates Fags, Marriage is Sacred bullshit multiple times per day. Those are usually the filthiest whores, even to this day.
Beginning with the Bible quoters, I have to laugh because I went to school with these people, Catholic school. I happen to know first-hand that they knew absolutely nothing about the teachings of the Bible back then and had no interest in learning.  They were in a Catholic school because that is where their parents chose to send them, not because they were dying to be immersed in a world saturated with religiosity. Nothing could be further from the truth.  These kids cursed like drunken sailors, cut class, smoked, drank, did drugs, and were having sex outside of marriage. The ones who by all appearances are holy rollers today, were the ones sitting in the back of religion class, passing notes, planning drunken parties, and laughing at the teacher. Now, they act like Sunday school teachers online. Throwing stones at everyone who doesn't believe what they do, and hoping we've all forgotten how they acted 25 years ago. I haven't.

The deep thinkers really crack me up. Not to be mean, but why stop now, most of these brain surgeons were not the brightest crayons in the box. Hell, I'll go one step further, kiss my own ass, and make it more clear for you. None of them were in any of MY classes. I went there, yes, I did. These were not honor students back in the day, but now they'd like the world to believe that they are intellectual philosophers, bestowing great knowledge upon the little people. The fact that grade-schoolers can look up the same quotes online, probably faster, doesn't bode well for your quest to impress. Sadly, we all know you aren't THAT bright, and when you don't even credit the person whose words you are poaching, we know that, too. It's bad enough when you constantly share these self-help messages, complete with the photo of the lone wolf or soaring eagle. I may just throw up a little in my mouth, no big deal. But when you have the balls to retype it into your status and claim it as your own, like you've had this huge enlightened moment and desperately needed to share it with all the sad sacks in your life...because you are so caring and thoughtful...you force me to start sharpening my shiv in preparation for the next time we happen to meet.

Moving forward to the most pathetic of all these losers, the former hoes. Maybe they aren't aware, but we all knew who they were in school. Their reputations preceded them and the fact that they flaunted it didn't help.  Anyone who had at least one male friend was privy to the skinny about what was really going down...and WHO was going down on WHOM. I don't mean the gossip mill bullshit, I mean the one-to-one conversations between friends that weren't meant to go any further than White Castles. Catholic schools are famous for the rapid spread of information, accurate or not. But they were also famous for creating a family-like atmosphere that encouraged genuine friendships and shared information, that actually was accurate. Perhaps borne out of a desire to protect each other from the evils of the "others" or maybe it was just a way to convey basic details to keep friends in the loop about the happenings in the hallways.  Either way, we KNEW.

Pretending now, that you are practically celibate kills me. You are only making a complete and total fool out of yourself. Especially those of you who got yourselves into a little bit of "trouble" in high school and took care of it. Posting sentiments such as "Abortion stops a beating heart" and letting us know that even if a woman is raped, she really should carry that baby to term, make you a total fucking hypocrite. You will not change the past by spouting bleeding heart shit today. What's done is done, and while I am not judging your teenage actions, I am pissed that you have the balls to judge the current actions of teenagers and grown ass women today. How dare you stand in judgment of others knowing that you are guilty of the very same crimes? Since you want to pretend you are Sister Mary Pure as the Driven Snow, allow me to quote for you, " He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her." Sound familiar, or did you sleep through that class, whore?
We all are aware of our own mistakes, and we all know that people can change. However, just because you think you are a better person today, and you may genuinely be, it doesn't give you carte blanche to rip others a new asshole for the decisions they make today. And I can with all confidence tell you that if you were dim bulb back in high school, you haven't miraculously become a Mensa member 25 years later. Unless you 've spent that quarter of a century retaking all those classes you slept through or cut, you are in all likelihood the same window licker you were then. Plagiarizing the wisdom of another doesn't make you smart, it makes you a thief. If Facebook was a university, you'd have been expelled by now. If you want to create a whole new persona, an updated and improved identity, that's great. Don't do it on a forum that houses everyone who knew you when you were a dumb, filthy whore. We WILL laugh at you, perhaps even publicly. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Double check your work before you permanently express yourself

With the stigma slowly being removed from piercings and tattoos, we are seeing a tremendous amount of them cropping up on all ages, sizes, sexes, and races. Honestly, I love it. I've never understood all the negativity towards ink and piercings. Loudly voicing judgments about someone else's skin without really understanding, you sound very ignorant. Not every person with a sleeve is a biker, and not every person with facial piercings is Goth or Punk. Yet, even today in 2012, I overhear snide comments from assholes with very definite opinions about that which they do NOT know. If you don't have the balls to get inked or think it's gross, that's fine. I'm not judging you.  Don't judge me because I love it.  The thought of needles scares the shit out of some folks, I respect that. My child doesn't share that fear and has both her nose and belly button pierced. Please show her the same courtesy you'd show any other well-behaved teenager, her piercings don't make her wild or disrespectful.
So, while I support of those of us who enjoy this form of self-expression, I venture into the realm of this topic very carefully. How many actually think, research, carefully consider, weigh options, and really take the time to be absolutely sure that this particular body modification is what you truly want. I'm not necessarily talking about remorse, but that does happen. What I am referring to is blatant errors in judgement, facts, spelling, positioning, and for whom you are doing it. That's a lot of mistakes, so let's take them one at a time, shall we? Starting with judgement, think about the line of work you are in, where you live, and how old you are before you consider doing this to yourself. No matter how far we've come, there are those that continue to set us back decades. There are still people in this world who would run screaming from the exam room if their doctor walked in with a giant septum piercing. Because somehow having a ring in his nose makes his license to practice medicine null and void.
Next, let's consider a very serious factor. For WHOM are you getting this modification? You are the one who has to live the rest of your life with the result. Getting your tongue pierced to give a better blow job is probably the most fucktarded reason I have ever heard, yet there are dumb ass whores out there who do it for that exact purpose. Guess what, skank? You were born with the one thing necessary to perfom that function, and the fact that you have no problem using it on tons of guys without discretion is bad enough. It isn't necessary to drive a stake through your tongue to perfect your craft, guys don't care about the how...they are only interested in your willingness to do it. Since you've got that covered, risking infection and broken teeth isn't worth the money spent on the piercing, much less the pain you'll encounter having it done.
Still on that line of thought, getting a tattoo of someone's name or face had better be very carefully thought out if you don't want to have to be re-inked over that spot 3 years or less later. If you want your late mom's face on your bicep, have at it. Your mom will ALWAYS be your mom, in life and after death. That fact doesn't change. Get your child's name emblazoned across your chest if you'd like. Same rules apply here, your child is forever your child, even after they grow up and have a family of their own. Think really long and hard before you slap your boyfriend's or girlfriend's name on any part of your body. Not trying to detract from your individual concept of love and romance, I'm attempting to inject a dose of reality into your world. Statistically speaking, a great portion of relationships don't last. The last thing you need is a permanent reminder of your grotesque error in romantic judgment. The name that made you smile and sigh yesterday, may cause you to projectile vomit tomorrow. Use your brain!

Get your facts straight! If you want to commemorate a moment in history, please do the research before having it injected into your skin. Should you think Chinese characters are quite lovely, and they are, be sure to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you are, indeed, getting the one that means LIFE and not the one that means BUTTHOLE. Don't just look it up, ask around. Head into the nearest Chinatown, whatever it takes. Looking to quote someone famous? Fantastic!  Having a hero or someone who speaks what is on your mind so beautifully is wonderful. Inking that phrase on your body is a great way to remind you of something that keeps you strong or makes you happy. Be sure it is accurate and you've got it verbatim in black and white on paper before you bop on over to your favorite tattoo artist. Then be sure to visually inspect the transfer BEFORE the first needle touches your flesh. Nothing says idiot quite like being a walking billboard of a fucking misquote.
Next, I beg you to consider this before you make the decision to be tattooed. Will I still like it 25 years from now? Will it remain relevant to me after this year? Do I truly like this design, word, phrase, face? Personally, I don't really care if you have eternal regrets.  Here's the thing, aside from the fact that you will eventually have some serious-ass remorse if you actually tattoo "Gangnam Style" on your neck, but you will subject yourself to more ridicule than your inner child can handle. Recently, I saw some fucking doozy tattoos on two different people. One was in Chico, and the guy was standing in front of a tattoo parlor, covered in ink, no shock. But he had an entire FACE tattooed on each of his cheeks. Seriously, even if you want to memorialize someone by having their image inked onto your skin, and I do respect that decision, never, ever put it on your own face! Unless he was letting us into the scary recesses of his mind and we were getting a glimpse into his multiple personality disorder, there is never a reason to put faces on your face. You do have arms, don't you?  My favorite fuck up has to be someone I just saw this past weekend. Mr. Anti-Everything Society Has Ever Deemed Acceptable was in Nation's with his equally angry girlfriend. She was dressed in raggedy black clothing, with a lovely sentiment emblazoned across the back of her sweatshirt.  It said, "EAT, FUCK, KILL" but that was nowhere near as hysterical as what was tattooed on her boyfriend's arm. In the fanciest upper case lettering you can imagine, Douche McBaggus had FUCKTARD tattooed across his gangly upper arm. How attractive.  After laughing myself to tears, I had to wonder, was he referring to himself? In my mind that was the only logical reason for having that permanently injected into his skin for public display.
And so, I must remind you to take a considerable amount of time and effort thinking about, researching, and contemplating the long-term satisfaction of any kind of body modification procedure. While it is becoming pretty mainstream and much more widely accepted, you still should keep certain things in mind. Like, do I live in an area that is fairly liberal and accepting of individuality? Do I have a job that allows such things? Am I doing this on a whim and will I regret this in the morning after the alcohol wears off? How much do I love this person, enough to have their name permanently on my ass cheek? After removing this gigantic piercing 20 years from now when I am too old to walk into bingo sporting a lip piercing, will the resulting stretched out hole in my dry, papery skin be okay with me or will I need to seek out a plastic surgeon to make me look normal again? This last point, I must simply drive it home like a dagger in your eyeball, do NOT get curse words tattooed anywhere on your body, especially the kind that do double duty as insults. Think before you ink!!! I always do. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Plastic surgery, how much is too much?

None of us is getting any younger. The sooner we accept it, the better off we'll all be. With age comes a variety of bodily changes, and they are all just fine, no need to become concerned. Everyone does it, yet some can't wrap their heads around the process as it applies to them. So, they start picking themselves apart, wrinkle by wrinkle, sag after sag. What purpose does this serve?  All it has the potential to do is create drama where it's unnecessary and cause depression and frustration. Totally worth it. And the worst part is, we don't even take a moment to notice who else is being affected by our own negative self-opinions. Today's youth are watching us and taking notes. We are sending a horrific message to them. Getting old is bad and you are never good enough. Face it, it's not just those of us racing against time who are going under the knife. Teenagers are having plastic surgery these days and they aren't even finished maturing into what they'll look like as adults. Having no clue what that means, they are researching plastic surgeons and asking for boobs and new noses for Christmas.
Moving from youngest to oldest, can someone please explain to me why a 14 year old NEEDS liposuction? Can't they just be more active? Being the ones having the highest metabolisms among all human Earth dwellers, I'm fairly certain it wouldn't take much to shave off the few pounds that are tweaking them. My mom would stop buying cookies and ice cream when she thought we could all use a slim down, and being none the wiser, all I'd notice was that my clothes fit better. But it isn't just weight, because teens have already discovered the beauty of eating disorders and use them to be skinnier than their friends.They are looking at their noses, their asses, and their ta-tas. Unless you are a Jewish Iranian Sicilian, your nose is probably a load nicer than you perceive it to be. Look at your mom, she's beautiful, isn't she? She's your peek into the future. Is your nose as offensive to you now?
Bigger asses and bigger boobs. Retail manufacturers make butt pads and bra enhancers for the ultra vain customer. Here's the facts as I see them. You are either born with booty or you've eaten your way to booty, but you can't water it and hope it'll grow. We are either genetically predisposed to a bubble butt or we're not. Many white chicks have flat asses. Why do you think Abercrombie and Fitch and Hollister are making a fortune selling those goddamn jeans that only fit white teenagers? Cut with 12 year old boys in mind, they wouldn't fit over my ass if I used a high-powered winch to yank them up. Rewinding the tape back to the fact that you want to be as thin as a fucking rail, realize that having no ass is part of the package. Asking a doctor to implant a little ghetto into your pancake ass after you've vomited it away is totally fucktarded.
Fast forward to boobies. So many still-developing teens are watching TV and movies and seeing actresses who have been surgically altered to look like human Barbie dolls. Wanting desperately to look like their screen idols, they beg their parents for boob jobs instead of clothing or jewelry for Christmas or their birthdays. Boobs continue to grow throughout the teen years if you are blessed to have females in your family with major league yabbos. Even if the women in your lineage have average cans, they'll grow a little bit and fill out to their predestined capacity during this time. Let's not even go that far into the future and mention pregnancy and its affect on the ladies in your shirt. Risking your life, because any surgery comes with the risk of death, for a set of sweater puppets is incredibly moronic. Women and girls with huge boobs will tell you, they aren't all they are cracked up to be. Try buying cute tops in the summer that don't make you look like a prostitute with overflowing jugs. Not happening.
Learning to age gracefully is almost impossible in our society. The wisdom of our elders is not respected anymore, old people are seen as feeble and helpless. They are also seen as unattractive. Nobody wants to have gray hair, wrinkles, thinner skin, sagging anything. Grays used to be considered dignified and gave people credibility that younger folks hadn't earned yet. Wrinkles were seen as a result of a life fully lived, laughter and tears that left their permanent marks on one's face. Now that is far from the case. We are appalled at a woman who hasn't touched up her roots and covered those god-awful grays. We spend inordinate amounts of money on creams and serums to smooth out those fine lines that reflect our memories. God forbid anyone sees that papery skin pop up on the back of their hands! Quick, call the salon and book a paraffin manicure, now!!!
The truth be told, I am not in love with the wrinkles or the papery skin I'm noticing on my once youthful body. I've purchased the creams and serums and diligently applied them until I got bored or too cheap to continue the charade. I say charade because I am well-aware of how old I am and actually accept most of it with some semblance of grace. But I have seen women my age and older who can't seem to travel as maturely as I into middle age and beyond.  They have sought out professionals, doctors, aestheticians, and anyone who promises to dip them into the fountain of youth. Never satisfied, and why does this surprise me since they don't like the way they look to begin with, they have multiple surgeries and procedures to attempt to recover their lost beauty.

A nip here, a tuck there, it's only the beginning. If it ended with an eye lift, I don't think this would be a topic today. But it doesn't end there. After the eye life, comes the face lift, the brow lift, the nose sculpting, the cheek implants, the jaw reconstruction or implants, the neck lift, the collagen implants to puff up their lips like fucking off-kilter balloons, botox to rid any remnant wrinkles, liposuction, tummy tucks, ass lifts, boob lifts, lasers to eradicate spider veins, dermabrasions, and the list goes on and on. There are more procedures than I have the patience to type right now. What these dumb fucks don't realize is that these surgeries, procedures, needles filled with poison, fuck all, are not making them more attractive. They are creating freakish looking monsters that scare small children. When you can't move your eyebrows to show any expression beyond shock, that's not pretty. If you can't crack a smile because your face is pulled back behind your head, you are no beauty queen, sister.

The problem is, no matter how great or expensive your plastic surgeon is, most fake things are recognizable as fake. Most 55-60 year old women have wrinkles, a little sag around the jawline, and a bit of turkey neck. It's ok, really. So when you see one whose face looks so tight you can bounce a quarter off her cheek, you know without a doubt she's be nipped and tucked to within an inch of her life. Just like when you see someone with 44EEE's and they are standing at attention, defying all the laws of gravity as you've learned them, you can confidently yell out, "That bitch has bolt-ons!" and be totally correct. Fake is fake and it's hard to disguise it. The other thing fake is...it's ugly as day-old shit. Looking like human caricature of yourself is not beautiful, it's frightening. You can't say that you look in the mirror after having your face stretched and implanted and yanked to and fro, and actually like what you see.  Then you aren't only butt ugly, you're a liar, too.

Ladies, and I'm addressing you specifically, stop the goddamn madness! Quit putting so much emphasis on your looks and start working on what's inside. Fix your wretched personalities, learn how to treat others with respect, value the wisdom of your elders, and support and encourage our teenage girls to be the best THEM they can be and that beauty lies within not across their chests. The rise of superficiality is the downfall of our society, placing more value on outward appearances than kindness for our fellow man. We can end this bullshit if we just take a moment and really look at ourselves, I mean really look. Is what you see THAT bad? Or can you see your mom's smile across your face as you get older? Are those your dad's wrinkles next to your eyes when you laugh? You wouldn't dream of calling your parents ugly, their love for you shone through their eyes every time they looked at you. That's what beauty looks like. It doesn't require anesthesia and a scalpel.  Are you friggin kidding me right now???

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Crotch fro is a no-go, but can manscaping go too far?

There needs to be a happy medium. Far too often I am seeing men with eyebrows way more sculpted than mine. The skin is so shiny it looks as though it's just been waxed 45 minutes ago, although that could just be the man cream they are using for moist, dewy skin. Once again, more so than mine. This is not to say I approve the horrific unibrow or enormous bushy eyebrows that make your forehead look like a ferret graveyard. I have no problem with you taking a wax strip and placing it between your eyes and ripping that fur clear off your face so that you, too, can have two eyebrows like nature intended. I also would not bat an eye if you wanted to trim those wild, foot-long strands to create neatly groomed eye framing brows.

Moderation is key here. Neat, not sculpted. For those of you who watch Jersey Shore, you know exactly the kind of brows I am referring to...think Pauly D. There are women who would kill to have eyebrows as neatly groomed as the boys on that show. I know I'd cut a bitch for Vinny's brows. But that shouldn't BE!
Moisturizing is important for all members of the species. I understand that. Tight, dry skin is uncomfortable and looks disgusting. I understand better than most because I have very dry skin. If I don't slather it on, my legs are as ashy as elephant skin. But, guys, why do you have more products in your medicine cabinet than I? Men as young as in their 20s are taking better care of their skin than middle aged women. Is this some sort of plot to make us look bad? To kick us in the self-esteem? I've always boasted about my low-maintenance beauty routines, taking great pride in looking quite nice without needing to open a vein to pay for all the expensive products most women my age are purchasing in vast quantities. Once in a great while I'll break down and buy some new-fangled, pricey eye cream or something in the hopes that it will make me look younger. In general, cocoa butter lotion and the yummy-smelling ones from Bath and Body Works have always worked just fine. Guys, listen, we don't want you looking like day-old ass, but you don't need to take 30 minutes longer than us in order to be presentable enough to leave the house. It's just WRONG.
The same rules apply for hair care. Men do NOT need to use enough product to shellac a dining room table and chairs. A little gel, a dab of curl cream, even a shot of hair spray is fine. Even though I prefer mens' hair to be au naturel, there's something to be said about looking "done" when you have somewhere nice to go. Most of the time, however, wash and go is the look you should be aiming for when it comes to hair styling. The concept of metrosexuality actually makes me shake my head, baffled by the whole mishegoss. Why would a man want to look and smell like a woman? Unless you are a transsexual, transgendered, or a cross dresser, you have absolutely no reason to use globs of my curly pudding in your 'do. Seeing shiny, lacquered hair that looks like it can withstand a hurricane on a man is simply put, GROSS. No woman wants to get her hand lodged in your mousse laden hair. It's a fucking deal-breaker.

I think things really started to go downhill with the invention of the AXE body spray line of products. Teenage boys were given the impression that if they sprayed this shit from head to toe, girls would be falling all over themselves to fuck them. The commercials were directed at college aged dudes, but the high schoolers and even some middle school douche bags were paying very close attention. About that time, the assault on the senses began in the form of cheap cologne chemical warfare. All males under the age of 25 were drowning themselves in this vile crap. Clouds of AXE were wafting through the atmosphere in such huge amounts, I am shocked at the lack of CDC involvement. We all know how I feel about cheap drugstore perfumes, and this product falls about 56 steps below them in quality and scent. Mother of Mercy, I was looking for sewers to dive into just to escape the overpowering variety of AXE smells I'd encounter in stores and on the streets. Nobody should take a whore's bath, but guys, in particular, should avoid it like the fucking plague.
Dress like a dude, please.  I hate seeing men in those jeans that were clearly meant for women, but designers who felt the need to cater to the European trash tendencies of American men these days manufactured them in larger sizes to accommodate them. Seriously, when you have rhinestones on your ass and balls between your legs, you've made a grotesque fashion error in judgement. I'm not crazy about the whole rhinestone bejeweled jeans trend anyway, but on a man it is the epitome of tacky. Guidos think they look manly and hot in them, little do they know we are laughing our asses off at how feminine they appear. Mens' capris should only be worn across the pond. Here, they look ri-goddamn-diculous. Women wear capris, men wear shorts. The sooner you accept it, the better off we'll all be in the long run. I've accepted men in flip flops, and this was huge for me. Growing up on the Right Coast, I never saw men in flip flops except at the beach or the pool. But don't push your luck and pair them with a pair of bejazzled pants or brightly colored capris.  My filter is only so strong.
Switching gears, crotch fro is a big, huge NO-NO! This is not 1971, we are not sporting gigantic bell-bottom jeans, cordouroy vests, and patchwork platform shoes. We are also not letting our pubic area run buck wild anymore. It is no longer acceptable for a woman OR man to rock the bodacious bush on the land down under. Choose your own personal variation on the theme of nether-region grooming. Whether you opt for a landing strip, a Brazilian, a neatly trimmed and edged triangle, a Bro-zilian if you are a dude, or bare-assed, do some-fucking-thing. There is nothing attractive about having as much hair in your underwear as you do on your head. You look absolutely unkempt and nasty. Yes, I have to go there...anywhere you have hair in a cramped and folded space on the body, you are trapping sweat. Need I put a finer point on it or can you let your imagination run away with you for a moment? Exactly.
What have we learned today? The old saying "less is more" is really applicable here. Less hair products, less lotion application, less cheap cologne, less decorative clothing, less eyebrow modification, and less crotch fro. Simple, really, yet many of you haven't gotten the hang of it. Opting for the 80s mantra of "more is more" and driven to excess in all forms, men will continue to be hopeless metrosexuals who eventually will morph into very unattractive women. Let me assure you, guys, what you will stand to gain from this approach is far LESS poontang and a lot more lonely nights. We want our men to look and smell like men, not bigger and taller versions of us. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

I have had about all I can stand of your fucking whining

Holy fucking Christ on the cross!  Is it me or has everyone fallen into two distinct categories as the holidays approach? One, my personal favorite, is the "my life is absolute perfection and I NEED to tell you all about it complete with accompanying photos" category. The other, which seems to have surfaced right around Thanksgiving, a time when you are supposed to be remembering why you should be grateful for what you do have, is the "my life is so fucking difficult, allow me to bitch and moan incessantly on social media to you" category. While I abhor the show-offs, at least I know that they are full of shit and compensating for what they lack by playing up what little they do have. Usually, it revolves around things and not what's really important, like family and good friends. I can almost feel sorry for them, then I remember how annoying they are and I revert back to my disgust for them and feel better about myself.
The second category has really started to chafe my hide. After stuffing themselves with vast amounts of turkey, stuffing, yams, and enough pie to feed a small army, joined by family and friends, these fuckers are complaining about everything! To be fair, they have been for a while, but it has intensified in the past week. The holidays do bring out the Scrooge in many, but usually even those asswads soften up after spending time with people they love and eating like a hippo who just smoked a bowl. Not so in 2012!!!  What I am witnessing is the biggest bunch of ingrates I have ever encountered in my 41 years of life. People with families, jobs, a roof over their heads, and food in their rounded bellies. It's enough to make me toss my goddamn cookies in their cornflakes.

If you and/or your spouse have jobs that paid for the food you just shoveled down your maw this Thanksgiving, and yet you bitch about how much you ate and how fat you feel, you are a piece of shit. Do you have any idea how many people are out of work this year? Have you watched the news in the past fucking month? The mere fact that you have so much food in your house that you can feel like an elephant today tells me you are pretty goddamn lucky and should be thanking the baby Jesus for your good fortune. The black sweatpants I am sporting today are proof positive that I am fortunate enough to be employed as is my husband. And the fact that I feel like a moose has taken up residence in my gut further proves that I have more than enough to eat. Not everyone does.
Everyday, I see more and more posts bemoaning the fact that you have to go to work today, tomorrow, next Tuesday, whatever.  Really? Should I cry for you now or next Tuesday? Poor you, having to wake up in the morning before heading to your place of employment that pays your fucking bills and keeps you from being homeless. Be thankful not only for having that job but for the physical ability TO work. There are very sick people out there who would love the opportunity to get out of bed and be productive five days per week. Yet, there you are, day in and day out, whining about how early you have to wake up, how cozy your bed is, how your boss sucks ass, on and on. I'm assuming you'd prefer round after round of chemo that leaves you physically sick and completely exhausted and unable to do much of anything BUT stay in that cozy-assed bed of yours that you love so much.

Tell us more about what pains in the asses your kids are, please. How god-awful they behave and how you can't stand having them home during holidays, winter break, summer break, President's Day. Incessant bitching about how you don't get a moment's peace and how they are fighting and giving you a headache. Add to that the fact that they actually want your attention and are looking to you for some form of activity, and this sets you off on a litany of complaints of how your day is ruined, your routine is shot to shit, and you can't do what you want. First, you wanted these kids. You gave birth to them, they are now your responsibility, deal with it. Secondly, and probably more important, are you aware of how many people cannot have children and would kill to have your problems? Are you so selfish that you can't give yourself to your own flesh and blood? Let me drive the point home a little deeper. Do you know how many people have lost their children tragically and would give their kidneys to hear them fighting and slamming doors and saying that they are bored? My own uncle lost his 18 year old daughter in a horrific alcohol-related car accident back when I was twelve. Trust me, he'd still rip his own heart out to have her back. You truly make me sick to my stomach!
One more thing.  Recently, I have seen far too many of you complaining about your parents and I can't keep quiet about it anymore. Never have I seen so many people so easily angered by the people who sacrificed their whole lives for them. The levels of frustration are through the roof and I have no idea what has come over you assholes. Is it too much to ask that you visit them once in a while? Beyond the obligatory holiday functions? Does is physically hurt you to call as often as they ask you to? Does the fact that your dad does nothing but reminisce when he talks to you really make your ears bleed? Can't you join him in his walks down memory lane? Maybe the times when you were a child are among the happiest in his life and he likes reliving them with you. Did you consider that as you were posting about his senility? And is it so difficult for you to take your mom shopping? How many times did she take you shopping when you were young? How many stores did she stop in to look for those fucking Jordache jeans you HAD to have? Short memory? If my mom was still alive I'd take her shopping to every store on the West Coast if she asked even if it took me a week's worth of driving. And, guess what?  I wouldn't utter a single word of complaint about it. I'd offer to take her to more stores instead. Why? Because I'd give anything to have her around and make her smile one more time. Some of you are so easy to hate.
In summation, here's the takeaway from my ranting and raving in your grill. STOP ALL THE FUCKING COMPLAINING! Take a good hard look around you and really see what is right under your nose. Most people have pretty amazing lives and are so busy whining, they don't even notice it...forget about being appreciative for it. If you have a partner, children, a home, a job, and living parents, do the rest of us a favor, and shut the fuck up already. You presently have far more than many folks out there who wouldn't utter a word of complaint if you pointed a gun at their heads. They know how to be grateful for what they have, especially when it is so little. They take nothing for granted and live their lives everyday as though they've been given a precious gift. Can you say the same? Not from what I've been seeing and hearing. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

What am I thankful for this year, unabridged and unedited.

Where do I begin? I am eternally grateful for the ugly-assed hags posting closeup photos of their wrinkly faces to remind me of how much younger I look. Many mornings I look in the mirror while brushing my teeth and wonder who the old broad is glaring back at me. Then I start to pick myself apart, inch by inch, until I've sufficiently depressed myself and begun craving something "special" in my morning coffee. Luckily, every day, like clockwork, there is always someone who feels the need to take yet another self-portrait and share it throughout the land. As I scroll through my feed, I have the giddy pleasure of being startled by a face that looks 20 years older than mine and definitely uglier. At that moment, I am lifted out of my funk, and can go about my day knowing that I look fucking good!
As an adult who is years beyond giving birth ever again, I am appreciative of the fact that I no longer have to deal with a screaming snot rocket in public and subject myself to the glares of the so-called professional parenting experts when I drag her ass back out of the store, kicking and screaming. Yes, I was that mom. You can throw yourself on the floor at home, but in public you will behave like a fucking human or you will lose the right to be outside the house. I can now watch and laugh at the struggling stay-at-home moms who have nothing else to do BUT teach their kids how to behave appropriately, floundering and reasoning with their toddlers on an adult level above what even she truly understands. I can shake my head, point, snicker. It's my turn to be the opinionated fucker, tsk tsking in the store. Hell, I am trying to shop. Grab hold of that little shit and throw him in the cart. He doesn't belong underfoot, especially not my foot. Praise the baby Jesus and thank God that my child is seventeen already.
Thank the Lord I went to high school in the 80s, when my biggest worry was making sure I had a full can of Aqua Net in my purse and extra cash to buy candy to eat in class. I am beholden to my parents for having me in 1971 so that I could experience high school during the "ME" decade and become a slave to the oddball fashion of the time. How many others can say that they got to wear neon pink sweaters and 30 black rubber bracelets on each wrist, while wearing enough hairspray to affix a small child to a wall, and two pair of scrunchie socks over their tights? Now ask how many could say they wore it to school? Our uniform was from the waist down and we had a dress code from the waist up. I could rock the day glo one day, and the layered shirts the next. Wrapping a big twisted scarf around my nappy hair a la Madonna in her Dress You Up video, and rocking the black eyeliner like it was applied with a giant crayon, I wore my uniform skirt and went to school. I couldn't have done that if I was in high school now. I don't have the flat ass to wear the narrow jeans they sell at Hollister so I'd be screwed.

Another shout out to my parents for raising me in Queens, NY. For so many reasons, but I'll just discuss a few. I ate salads with dressings other than Ranch. Thousand Island, Catalina French, Italian, Coleslaw, or just oil and vinegar, I had options! Because that white shit was not a staple in my home, I also learned to eat vegetables without having to dunk them into a vat of it. I actually knew what broccoli tasted like and enjoyed it in all its natural glory. Fortunately for me, growing up in NY, I also know what good pizza tastes like and had the opportunity to enjoy vast quantities of it before moving out here to shitty pizza land. My palate wasn't tainted by pizza covered in crap like pineapples and Canadian bacon. Nor did I ever touch a slice that had cheddar fucking cheese mixed in with my sacred mozzarella. Who does this?  What fucktard came up with that idea? Probably the same person who came up with nasty bagels they make out here and try to pass off as NY bagels. Give me a fucking break, that oddly chewy tiny little bready and flavorless rounded item is most decidedly NOT a NY bagel nor could it ever pass for one.
I am indebted to my mother for allowing to me eat like a person, not a bird. Never the girl who just orders a salad when out with others, I am able to embrace my curvy self without guilt. Unlike some women, I don't have to pretend to be a light eater, I can eat like a lumberjack happily and with great gusto. For this reason, I am not obsessed with size or shape and have not passed this disease on to my daughter. She is a curvy girl and looks absolutely gorgeous. When I see the girls she goes to school with, I am forced to ask her if they ever eat. I see a generation of girls with such poor body image that they've resorted to all forms of eating disorders and drugs to maintain what they believe is attractive. What they look is like emaciated girls or ten year old boys. Unhealthy mentally and physically, they have a long and painful road ahead of them. Thank all the bible boys, my daughter won't have to deal with that shit. She eats like a person, not a hummingbird. God bless her appetite, my great-grandma Rose would shed a tear of pride watching her eat.
Give praise to Mary, mother of Jesus, I am able to go to work every day instead of sitting home watching the four walls. Not only is it financially smarter to go to work once your children are old enough to be in school full-time, but it is intellectually healthier for you to be out in the world among other adults contributing positively to society. Not having enough time to keep the house as neat and clean as I'd like is a thorn in my side, believe me. That is why I take advantage of any time off I have to go on psychotic cleaning sprees, attacking an area of the house at a time. Staying at home while your children are young is the optimum situation for their growth and emotional health. You are their primary teacher and it is a job you had better fucking take seriously. Taking them to the park or somewhere they can learn to socialize is crucial, do not keep them holed up in the house so you can watch your fucking soaps all day long. And is the television and the internet so important to you that you can't get your household chores done AND raise your children? I can tell you that I can get done what most of you whine about having to do with hours and hours to do it, in a third of the time you are allotted on any given day. Lazy ass bitches give the rest of us a bad name. And for not being one of them, I am forever obliged.
Praise the Lord and pass the biscuits, I married for love. Hard to imagine in this day and age, but we did it, and contrary to the current marriage statistics, are still married twenty years later. Waiting until getting older and set in your ways doesn't work for everyone. Plus, face it, older is not always attractive on all people. Then you have to have something else to bring to the table, and many of you fake it. Faking interests, faking importance, faking life experiences, faking monetary worth, all in the name of snagging a partner because your biological clock is ticking or the need to couple has become so great and your prospects are slim and none. I didn't have to pretend to have the same hobbies or like the same music. Nor did I have to learn to do something that scared the shit out of me or bored me to tears just to impress someone. Nope. I could just be me, and me was enough. We just truly enjoyed each other's company and were friends first. People today forget the friendship part. The basis of any good relationship is taking the time to be friends first. If you get along well enough to hang out with this person all day long and still want to talk to them on the phone that night, chances are you've formed that foundation already. Without taking skydiving lessons and line-dancing even though you hate country music. Imagine that?
What else brings me a sense of gratification? The fact that I am educated and extremely intelligent. Yes, I just kissed my own ass, you don't have to bring it to my attention. While I can accept that many of you are not at my level, and respect everyone's individuality, I cannot stomach full-on stupid. Not necessarily book-stupid, even a severe lack of common sense can send me into a tailspin. There is no excuse for ignorance. As adults, we all have the responsibility of taking care of ourselves and at times, others. This requires a certain amount of common sense. Part of common sense is knowing what you don't know. Meaning, don't try to talk about things about which you haven't a clue. All you are doing is making a gigantic ass out of yourself and annoying the living shit out of everyone around you. Have the decency to know when to shut your fucking piehole, especially when you don't know a thing about the topic. Part of being intelligent is knowing what you don't know and either accepting it and asking those who DO know or...taking an interest in the topic and making an effort to learn about it before engaging in conversation about said topic. I will be the first to admit when I don't know something, bless my big brain and the common sense it is filled with that allows me to do that.
It is with gratitude that I celebrate my ability to express myself clearly and succinctly. I do not espouse euphemisms to tell you that someone is crippled or blind, I just call it like I see it. The lady on the corner is Oriental, not Asian. She is not Armenian or Iraqi, why would I call her Asian? If I catch someone jerking off, then I will tell them to stop jerking off in my presence, not refer to their monkey getting spanked. Dead is dead, your Grandma is not sleeping with Jesus. So when I inform you about someone taking their last breath, I won't refer to them as buying the farm, unless of course they did buy one right before they DIED. My love of all curse words also affords me to ability to be as expressive as I need to be in any given situation. When I slam my elbow into the edge of the table, I will scream "FUCK" at the top of my lungs so you get the full expression of the pain I feel at the moment without any candy-coating involved. If someone is an asshole, they are a fucking asshole, not a meanie or a turd. Really?! How old am I, three? An English degree under my belt and a colorful vocabulary are what make me so interesting to talk to, more so than the average jackass. Nothing makes me tune out more than someone who grasps at PC terminology and uses creepy childlike words to say in 8 paragraphs what I could have said in one sentence. This is why I am thrilled to be gifted with the ability to tell it like it is.
I am thankful for growing up before the technology age warped the minds of children. Thank God I know the difference between what is private and what can be publicly announced. I am relieved to have been born into a family that didn't have an abundance of money so I actually learned the value of a dollar and the importance of hard work. I can happily point out all my flaws so I don't have to focus so hard on yours. I am honest with myself and can admit when I've fucked up. Praise the Lord I was raised with respect for others and taught proper public behavior. I'd hate to be someone's embarrassment. Even though my home life was riddled with dysfunction and may have been considered scary by some, I am glad I lived it. It has taught me more than any books or school ever could and I am stronger today as a result. No one is happier than I to have lived in a city as a child rather than under the shade of a protected and sheltered suburbia. More life lessons are learned playing out on the street than being shuttled from playgroup to playdate and other overscheduled activities.
Speaking of overscheduling, I want to thank my parents again for not signing me up for every fucking sport, art class, and godforsaken other activity just to keep me busy my entire childhood. You know why? Because it wouldn't have been a childhood at all. I am grateful for all the unscheduled time I had on my hands, to read,  play, explore, and socialize. I am also thankful for being raised with religion. Whether you believe or not is not my problem, but at least I know when the going gets tough, I have someone stronger than I who loves me unconditionally looking out for my best interest. I am happy to have all my quirks and issues. I'd be so boring without them. Thank God I've had periods resembling crime scenes for the past five or more years, because had I not, I probably wouldn't be able to appreciate the gift of early onset menopause and embrace those hot flashes like a boss!
But what I am most thankful for this year is my family and friends, who are actually just my extended family. Grateful for family that I've been reunited with thanks to the technology that I mock as well as because of a death in our family, I am so lucky that time and distance hasn't created an enormous and insurmountable gap between us and we were able to pick up like time has stood still. A loner by nature, I still couldn't get through the day without knowing that the people I love are there when I need them. They support me and love me even with my quirks, issues, history of dysfunction, ADD, coffee addiction, drunken sailor's vocabulary, and lack of edit button. I have an awesome husband who is my best friend, an amazing daughter, and the cuddliest cat on the planet. What would I do without all this love I am surrounded by? I never want to find out.  Are you friggin kiddng me right now???

Nice tits or that catcall and vile comment makes me HAWT!

Men, it's your turn and I desperately need to pick on you today. Tell me something, do you really believe that your running commentary on every female within your radar will get you laid? Seriously, do you? I've often wondered this and have gotten truly mentally challenged answers when I've actually asked those of the male species. From "it's a compliment" to "she liked it"-- men have come up with some fucking doozies. I'm going to have to assume that it is related to the fucktarded Y chromosome that those of higher intelligence don't possess. There really is no other explanation for this bit of ignorance. In 2012, you'd believe that a woman of average attractiveness could walk down the street without some wannabe frat boy expressing himself in regard to her various assets. Screaming, whistling, hooting, and giving your own personal assessment of our body parts is grotesquely offensive at best. I know, it's meant to make us hot, right? When was the last time a woman replied in a positive fashion? Have you ever heard, "Oh baby, the way you talked about squeezing my TIT-AYYYYS until milk shoots out really turns me on, can I offer you a blow job right here, right now? Right, never.
Our main erogenous zone is nestled inside our cranium, in case you were wondering. Oh, I am so sorry, that means we are turned on when you stimulate our brains. We love it when you recognize how intelligent we actually are and let us know you've noticed. Score more if you tell us how impressive our vast knowledge is on a topic. Here's another hot approach, admit you are wrong and we are right about anything you'd like. You know it's true, you simply have to say it out loud. Rather than grabbing your junk and shaking it at us like it's some kind of generous offer, speak to us with respect, you'll get so much more out of us. Has woman ever grabbed her vag and shaken it back at you in response? Is it some kind of mating call of which I am unaware?  Maybe we are supposed to grab our boobs and alternately shift them up and down? To and fro? Not being a jungle dweller, I'm not certain what is appropriate. Did you leave your loincloth home, Tarzanfuckingboy?
An offshoot of this particular topic is men who feel it necessary to conduct a running commentary about every female they consider even remotely attractive and then share it with whatever female they happen to be with at the moment. Couple of things come into play here. One, we don't give a raging fuck about your opinion of other women. I know you think we want to know for some odd reason. Maybe you think we'll morph into today's version of the woman of your dreams? Perhaps you actually think we want to know what you find attractive in every other woman. What purpose does that serve? We aren't running out to get implants and collagen injections because you have no control over your dick. And most importantly, two, if you found us attractive enough to date, fuck, or marry, there must be something about us that keeps you coming back for more. Yet, the compliments never flow in our direction. We get the privilege of watching your neck on a swivel as we walk down the street because you are too fucking stupid to be discreet. We have eyes, too, but you'd never know it. Must be the higher intelligence thing kicking in again.
Taking this a step further, as I usually do, I am given to moments of sheer wonder about men who have nothing else to talk about with their friends but other women. Like they are trying really hard to impress each other with what body part on which bimbo makes them pop a chub. Not only do her tits and the other broad's big ass, along with the skank down the block's legs turn him on, but he will regale his buddies with descriptions of what he'd do with all of them given the opportunity. And they all go on and on about their very particular set of skills, sexual techniques, and tricks...the tales getting taller and taller by the second. The buddies egg each other on as they point out the other chicks passing by and their amazingly stunning attributes and how they'd make each and every one of them scream, ruin them for other men, and "she wouldn't walk for a week when I'm done with her" bullshit. Yeah, so truthful.

Here's what I propose, ask their wives if they are the manly fuck-machines they brag to their friends about or if they are actually pencil-dicked minutemen? Then laugh your ass off when they tell you the real facts. Some wives will laugh at the strange bonding ritual in which their husbands participate, shaking their heads at how incredibly idiotic they sound. Others turn a blind eye, and refocus it on hot guys as passive-aggressive payback for all the ogling and shit talk. Still others are truly offended because their men have never raved about their appearance to anyone, not even at the beginning of their relationship, and now wouldn't notice if she walked through the house balls-out naked unless she happened to step in front of the TV. I suppose if she actually had balls he might notice.
Rare is the man who has the cojones to stand up to his friends and tell them to quit making every goddamn female in the general area feel totally uncomfortable and shut the fuck up. I'm not sure I've ever met one who did. They'll keep quiet and not contribute to the conversation, laughing only here and there as they see fit. But not one will open his yap and defend women. Why is that? Is the punishment castration? Will your friends abandon you? Is it a deal-breaker among your frat brothers? Come on, there are millions of women waiting for the answer. We'd like to know when you became a gelding instead of the stallion you'd like all your friends to believe you are. If you were such a big fucking man, you'd be able to stand your ground with the pussies with whom you hang. But, guilt by association, or just based on your behavior, you, too, are a pussy just like the rest of them.
Even rarer is the woman who feeds into her man's obsession with other women. Pointing them out, commiserating with him about certain attributes, helping him amass his collection of memorabilia of her should she be someone famous, she is outwardly good-natured and supportive of the wandering eye of his little head. I'll tell you what she is inwardly, because I'd venture a guess she would tell you she is comfortable with her own sexuality and it's healthy for him to have a crush and she has complete and total confidence in their present bond. Bull-motherfucking-shit. What she actually is, and you can disagree, is totally insecure. She thinks if she stands up for herself and women everywhere by telling him that while she knows he's not dead and clearly there are other attractive people in the world, he doesn't have to sit in a pool of his own drool and jizz fantasizing about some other broad, waxing his version of poetic about how sexy she is to her. She thinks he'll walk out on her should she open her mouth. No great loss, dumb ass. Plus, some things are better left unsaid, this being in the top three.
Unless you guys want women to start commenting on your packages or lack thereof, I suggest you learn the value of silence. Because I'll tell you something, I've got no problem letting you know that it looks more like a man-gina than man meat sitting inside your ill-fitting jeans. How'd you like that while walking down the street with YOUR friends? And I'm sure you'll love it when my friends and I whistle when you pass and as you start to high five your friends feeling all studly, we scream out, "Not you Stubby McNoDick!" Think before you speak, know your audience, and show some goddamn respect for women, especially the one who sleeps in the same bed you do. Unless you are having a love affair with your palms, might I suggest throwing her a compliment or two throughout the day? Save the fantasizing for your head, and trust me when I tell you, the hot babes you like to tell your friends you'd like to break your schlong off in think you are a disgusting ugly slob. You have a better chance at becoming the President of the United States than banging any of the chicks you prattle on about. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Till Death Do Us Part, or until the neglect outweighs the love

This thought doesn't only apply to married couples, everyone you've chosen to have in your life is there because you wanted them to be. When you stop acting that way, you've begun to end the relationship. A form of self-sabotage, in which many folks engage without even realizing it. I've watched too many friends check out of relationships, not just with a partner, but with their children, and other friends. Like it just became too much work to nurture what was already there in front of them. We've all become too busy for the basic needs that used to be simple to satisfy. Listening to someone who needs an ear, and validating their feelings. Sharing laughter with the one friend who really "gets" you, the whole body laughter that wears you out. Sticking a little note inside the lunchbox of your child who gets picked on at school so they feel loved and accepted. Dropping off a grande Gingerbread latte because you know he likes them. Asking a friend how their day was and actually listening and giving a shit. Remember those days? Or are we so far gone?
So often people are alone in a crowd, not because they are socially awkward, but because they are preoccupied. Carrying cell phones, tablets, and giant day-planners like Jesus Christ walking the Earth, we are a society that has checked out of life. Yet, if you were to ask someone if that's true, they'll insist that all their advanced technology actually helps keep them in touch with more people in their lives. Really? Then why are you out with your supposed best friend and glued to your cell phone, texting half the people in your contacts list? Is your best friend suddenly boring as shit or do you suffer from some serious ADD? I've actually seen couples out on dates, sitting across from each other at a restaurant, busily texting away on their phones, and completely ignoring each other. Dead silence. Of course this is not to be confused with a comfortable silence, which is something attained over time within very secure relationships. The need to fill the empty air space with mindless, incessant chatter evaporates leaving the contentment of sometimes just being with each other.
The desire to feel popular coupled with the instant gratification disease people have been infected with has caused an outbreak of folks ignoring people they are sitting right next to in order to be in touch with at least a handful of other people via some form of messaging method. My question to you is, do you truly believe that the handful of people you are chatting with care even half as much about you as the person who took time out of their day to share it with you? If I had to guess, I'd say no. Are you aware of the message you are sending to that person? You are telling them that they aren't important enough and definitely not interesting enough to hold your attention for more than brief 30 second snippets at a time, the length of time it takes to read and/or respond to a text. Would you like it if you were treated the same? Would you even notice? I dare say you wouldn't. Most folks have become numb to this sort of thing and don't really care if they sit in silence, tapping away on a keyboard while present company does the same. Why bother leaving the house?  At least at home, you can stay in your pajamas or waltz around in your underwear should that be the mode of dress most comfortable for you.

Checking in. We have forgotten how to check in with people. I don't mean a text that says "whassup?" sent off to an acquaintance or even someone very close to you. I mean a real check in, one that lets the other person know you are interested in them and what is going on in their life. Not asking how are you of someone when you only want to hear them respond, "Good, and you?" Because most don't want to hear more, they just don't care enough to wait for the actual answer. That's fucking sad. We really don't give a shit about anyone anymore. I miss the good old days when people talked for hours on end and didn't run out of things to say. When people shared thoughts and feelings unabashedly with friends and felt accepted in spite of what they'd said. You just knew that it would be okay to express what was on your mind without fear of being ostracized or criticized. Debates were heated yet friendly, you could actually agree to disagree, and grab a burger together afterwards. Opinions were always welcome.
Sadly, this isn't true anymore and part of the reason people have stopped having real relationships, why they've stopped checking in. Not only because we live in a world of sound bites, lacking the attention span for much more, but we also want to be surrounded by sycophants. No longer wanting the challenge of a differing opinion, we opt to hang out with those who share our likes, dislikes, political views, and tastes in food. It's just easier and doesn't require us to think and challenge ourselves and our own beliefs. Isn't that the purpose of intelligent conversation? To expand our minds beyond what we presently know or believe? Not in this decade. It's too hard and frankly, nobody has the time or patience for it. Possessed by an enormous sense of entitlement, we want to be right all the fucking time and screw you if you don't agree. Nice. And you want to have friends? Good luck, assmunch.
Wanting to be heard and needing to be right has caused another phenomenon in today's relationships, disinterest which begets neglect. We've stopped caring. I'm serious, it's occurring everywhere and is the death of many relationships, whether it be with a friend, a partner, or a relative. These days we have placed so much on our plates, there's no room left for what's really important. Even though we know how we would like to be treated, we've forgotten that the first step is treating someone else that way. We all learn best by example and we are not setting a very good one. If you don't want to be ignored, don't ignore those closest to you. Seems simple when read, but almost impossible to put into practice for most of you buttfucks out there. So cliche, but it really is the little things that count. Small gestures that reflect that you've listened to what someone has said to you. Remember those? Your mom knew how to do this...think hard and try to recall your childhood.
Some people take this twenty steps too far and go overboard. This is NOT being thoughtful, it's showboating. Like the dude who insists on sending flowers to his woman's place of work, is that meant to impress her or all the people with whom she works? I can answer that, it's for everyone who is watching the spectacle. He wants all the other women to be jealous and the other men to mentally high-five him for his slick move. Allow me to let you in on a secret, most of us don't give a fetid shit about your showing off. We know your intent, and we are not impressed in the slightest. Your intention is very clear, because had the flowers been meant for your partner, truly for her, you'd have handed them to her yourself at home. Delivered to work isn't being thoughtful at all. Look at me, I'm romantic and spontaneous! If you have to tell all of us, then you're not. A loving gesture would consist of her finding a rose on her pillow at bedtime. Hey, I'll go one better, and I will bet most of the ladies will agree with me. Have her coffee waiting and prepped for when she walks into the kitchen tomorrow morning. Extra points if you remembered that she takes two Splenda, not one. Get the point?!
Remembering that your kid likes Starbucks and coming home with her favorite drink just because. An out-of-the-blue neck rub because you recall hearing him say his pillow was bunched wrong last night. Asking the friend you've known forever what's wrong because you'd recognize that little wrinkle above her eyebrow anywhere and you know exactly what it means. Then truly listening. Yeah, I know I'm getting nowhere here. What scares me is that one day we will all be alone because we didn't take the time to water the flowerbed of loved ones in our lives. I know of several people who are now divorced because they forgot how to care...even though they actually did. Now they are going overboard in their new relationships, and you know what, it's too little too late. Most of them would still be married to their former spouses had they checked back in before it was too late. That makes this jaded bitch want to cry. And I think you've figured out that it takes a LOT to make that happen.
I've said this before and I'll say it again, make time for people you love before they are ripped away from you. Once they are gone, they are gone for good. Dead is forever and you can't rewind that tape. Heed my fucking words, this time I am dead serious and I hope you think about what you've read. Be present in the moment, pay attention, really listen, truly care. You've chosen those who have a permanent place in your life, a conscious choice to place them there and keep them close. Whether by birth, marriage, or happenstance, they are there and they deserve all of you.  A life lived with regrets is not a life worth living, and one I won't live. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Let 'em fall...paranoid parents crack me up!

Is it me or have you also noticed that parents today are raising a generation of veal?  Pampered, coddled, and protected, kids of this era are the biggest bunch of pussies I have ever encountered. I'm waiting to see kids coming through the door at work wrapped in bubble wrap and wearing crash helmets while being fed up their noses with a tube. You may think I am joking around here, but I assure you, I'm not. Is it the fact that many parents are older these days or is it just a bunch of fucktards raising their children to be helpless douches? A combination of both? Probably. Yet, schools are more competitive, colleges are only accepting the creme de la creme, kids are expected to play several seasons of sports per year, and kids are having their hands held while they take a shit. There are some boys that I'd swear have mommies holding their tallywackers while taking a squirt.
While I do understand the whole helmet-wearing while bike-riding concept, I also recall an entire childhood of NOT wearing one and living to tell you about it. Not only did I not wind up in the ER after taking many spills off of my own bike, I didn't split my skull open flying off the handlebars of my friends' bikes. Yes, we rode on each other's handlebars, sat backwards on their banana seat holding on to the metal semi-circle attached to the back, or one of us would sit and the other would stand over the seat while pedaling the bike.  This all usually took place on a steep hill because, well, it's more fun to take risks at breakneck speed than putt-putting slowly like someone's grandma. Not a knee or elbow pad to be found on this chick or her equally bad-ass friends. I can almost hear some of today's moms and dads gasping with fear and shaking their heads disapprovingly at my past behavior.  I'm sure they are praying for the safety of my daughter at my totally inept hands.
The car seat law is understandable to a point. Making it mandatory for infants to ride in car seats makes sense.  For months, they can't even sit upright on their own and even then, a little bump and their tiny bodies keel over like a miniature drunk. Aside from riding in my grandma's lap while my mom drove, I'm not sure what method was used to get me to and fro in a car. Although, growing up in Queens, I'm pretty confident that most of my travel took place in my carriage, pushed by my mom, who did make the sacrifice to stay home and raise me, not placing my care in the hands of others. Different topic, sorry. Anyway, what confuses the shit out of me, is the newer laws that require a child to be eight years old AND eighty pounds before they are allowed to sit directly on the seat provided by the actual car while using a seat belt. What the fuck is this? We were lucky our cars came equipped with LAP belts and even then, we didn't use them. There were bench seats in the front and we sat three across without being tethered to the car. As a young child, I bounced around in the back seat, creating havoc with crayons. No broken bones, no lacerations.
Padded playgrounds make me pee myself. Yet, everywhere you go, there they are. Why can't kids fall on cement? We did. We make the play structures plastic instead of metal to save little tushies the experience of being fried by zooming down the slide in shorts or a dress.  Then we put down padded floors under the climbing structures to prevent bumps and bruises, God forbid. Now kids make a game of throwing themselves from the monkey bars, landing on their knees, asses, and faces. Why? Because it doesn't hurt enough. If it did, they'd figure out a way to stay hanging up there more effectively.  They don't have to learn dexterity or build any upper body strength like we did. They don't learn common sense, either. If it was Africa hot out, we'd have to test the slide with our hand before considering ascending the ladder to make that slide down. Dumbing down and softening the falls, takes away learning opportunities and chances to toughen up a bit. Still feel like you are doing something good for your child?
Are you all aware that Pull Ups are causing children to potty train later and later? Soon we'll have kids wearing diapers in Kindergarten. Hell, let's drag it out to first grade, we don't want to rush them. Oh no, we can't place any pressure on them to wear underwear and use the fucking toilet. Remember how our generation got potty trained?  Our moms put us in underwear and told us to use the toilet. When we had an accident, we knew about it because we were wearing underwear, not a diaper that we could pull up and down on our own which would protect our clothing and delicate little asses from being wet and dirty. Oh, and most of us were two years old at the time, not four or five. It's bad enough moms hold their sons' wieners when they pee in the toilet after they've finally potty trained, but why are we putting off the inevitable? Why are we allowing pissing and shitting in pants instead of telling our kids it's time to wear underwear and use the toilet? Just another way to keep them infantilized and dependent on you for everything so you can protect them from the big bad world.
Let's discuss cutting food into 1/2 inch cubes for our children to eat. Do your child's front teeth not work correctly? Can't they bite into something? Are their molars made of marshmallows or can they chew effectively? We've become totally paranoid about choking hazards to the point of ridiculousness. No popcorn, no grapes unless cut in half, no hot dogs unless sliced and cut in half. Nobody chopped my food into almost chewed sizes for me when I was a child. I don't remember my mom telling me I choked so much that she started blending my food and handing me a straw. No, I actually bit into food and chewed it, and survived the ordeal.

Why don't we add to the discussion all the products now available that enable our children to not only have to chew their food, but allow them to never learn how to use utensils? It was pretty stupid of yogurt manufacturers to put their product into tubes, after liquefying them further, and handing them to children to suck and swallow yogurt rather than using a spoon to put it into their mouths. It helped the lazy parents who didn't want to clean up yogurt spills and took the burden of teaching their kids how to use a fucking utensil away. But, not to be outdone by the yogurt folks, the applesauce people jumped on the bandwagon. Not only did they put their product in a squeezable pack that requires fierce sucking, much like a BOTTLE NIPPLE, but they added all the ingredients (read: vegetables) that kids don't normally like on the first try in an effort to assist those same lazy parents in their quest to feed their children healthy food. What ever happened to learning how to use a knife, fork, and spoon? Why don't parents tell kids, "This is what's for dinner, it's not a restaurant, if you're hungry, you'll eat." Dumb asses.
Imaginary allergies. So many kids have them and thanks to their parents can't enjoy a fucking peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Not just that, any cracker or cookie or snack made within a five mile radius of a factory that processes nuts. Sorry, Joey, you can't have the birthday snack your friend brought in today, have this yummy rice cake. Seriously? Most of these kids have never seen a doctor regarding their so-called allergy. Their parents are scared shitless of witnessing a reaction, they won't allow their kids to even try a goddamn nut. How the hell will you know? I know, you'd rather subject your child to a battery of allergy tests which could involve many scratches or tiny injections on their arm or back. Because the doctor is already their favorite place, let's allow your Munchausen's by Proxy issues take precedence, and torture them just a little bit more. Usually, though, the parents will not consult their pediatrician at all. They'll be so afraid of a possible reaction, their child will always be the odd man out at school, parties, friends' houses, you name it. I know of one child in particular who threw up after eating peanuts and the mom immediately assumed he was allergic to peanuts. Puking determines an allergy? Then I'm allergic to copious amounts of tequila. The truth of the matter is, puking without a rash does NOT indicate an allergy. Maybe your little shit ate too fast or too much?
If you aren't allowed to trip and fall, you'll never figure out how NOT to do it. If you don't choke, you won't learn to chew your food fully. When you can't feel that your pants are soaking wet from your own piss, you won't decide that you don't like it and make the effort to run to the toilet. The point is parents, allow your kids the chance to learn some things on their own. You did, and you're still here. Clearly the things you are trying desperately to protect your child from weren't fatal to you. Teaching your child that the world is a big, bad, scary place and that they don't have the ability to maneuver it without padding, helmets, and pre-cut food is NOT to their benefit. Let go of their hands and their ding dongs, and let them be kids. Give them candy and nuts to chew on and don't stand there holding your breath waiting for them to choke or lose a tooth. Guess what?  It's going to happen whether you like it or not. Maybe if you'd grow up, you could step back and watch your child do the same, without the giant safety net. I didn't have one and I'm here in one piece laughing at you. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Sexy vs skanky, where do you fall on the spectrum?

Cosmopolitan magazine has a small section of photos that compares people who are sexy with those who are total skanks. It's part of their "Star Spotting" article each month. Makes me laugh so hard, I'm grateful for choosing to do most of my mag reading on the throne or I'd be changing my pants way more often than I'd like. A fantastic section that calls out celebs and regular folk, equally, I look forward to it as much as I do the entire rest of the magazine. The difference is, the Hollywood set acts and dresses this way purely to attract attention, although they'll claim they want privacy. "There is no such thing as bad publicity" holds true in this case. Yes, we may laugh, but we also remember them and tell someone else later that day. We've just ensured continued fame. When our friends, family, and acquaintances act this way, the only thing that happens is we feel embarrassed FOR them and they humiliate themselves, whether they know it or not.

Like the chick who is unaware of how old she really is and tries to dress like her teenage daughter. We reach a certain age when things start their journey south and we have to begin to dress accordingly. This means no sideboob, asscrack, vag shots when you get in and out of cars or squat in a skirt, copious amounts of the cleave, even midriff is probably a big old no-no. Look at yourself on the way into the shower, see how the girls no longer stand at attention? This means they don't get as much exposure as when they were more cooperative. The same goes for the belly that held one or more babies inside for nine months. Even if you workout, it's not the same midriff as it was in your 20s, get over it.
I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but your ass should also remain covered by your clothing. In case you are too ignorant to know what I am saying, allow me to elaborate. Pants are lower-waisted than in years past, I understand completely.  Mom jeans are ugly on everyone, so I am not advocating their use. The waistband should fit comfortably below your belly button without digging in to your flab. Where the waistband shouldn't be is half an inch above your Brazilian. It's disgusting on teenagers, and revolting on women your age. I say your age because my beauty is ageless. That was almost impossible to type with a straight face. Realistically speaking, your pants should completely cover your ass, even when you bend over. Some visions are better left unseen, crack is whack, and yours is vile.

Please, please wear underwear. Going commando because you don't want VPL in your pants is fine. Flying free under a dress or skirt that barely covers your hoo ha is just gross, for many reasons. One strong wind and we all get to see what you had for breakfast, as my mom used to say. Sitting down becomes an Olympic event, pulling on the hem, lowering yourself slowly on to the chair, and squeezing your legs together so tightly you won't need that pocket rocket, after all. Inevitably, you will become antsy and start to shift around in your seat. Flashing your wares for all to see, and baby, they aren't shiny and new anymore. Certainly not fit for public consumption, keep that thing covered.
Appearances aren't the only things that can make you a skank. Your behavior can far outshine your ensemble. Some women can dress like a dime store hooker and be quite demure and sweet as pie. Others can dress like you and me and behave like cheap trailer trash. When you are over forty and putting pics on Instagram of your drunk ass and the drunk asses of all your friends, you are behaving like a low-rent tramp. Do you really want everyone to see you pretending to be a lesbian for the camera and the scuzzy dudes at the bar? I don't want to scroll down the screen to find you with your tongue in your BFF's cleavage and some random stranger behind you holding your ass. Have you no respect for yourself? The actions are bad enough, but preserving the moment forever on a social media website is damn near retarded. Ah, Grandma, those photos I found of your drunken escapades were eye opening. What was that you wanted to tell me about my tattoos?
Being a hater is totally skanky. Jealousy is the fucking ugliest thing your can wear across your face. Some people can't stand to watch others be happy...or look good...or lose weight...or be successful. Mean-spirited motherfucks, spend their days grousing about people who are genuinely happy, living their lives, and being completely unaware that someone they call a friend is enviously wishing them bad juju. Instead of cheering your friend on, you text a mutual friend and bash the shit out of them. What you don't realize, is that you actually hate yourself, not the seemingly happy friend. The hater skank is usually also the one who will throw you under the bus at work or take credit for something you did. Not one to allow anyone else to succeed, they will puff themselves up to the boss while simultaneously cutting you down. Beware this bitch, she is often successful. Bosses love suck ups and enjoy being privy to inside information about other employees. While you'd love to shank this twat, jail time is never worth it.

Another horrifically skanky move, and yes it still happens in 2012, is using your feminine wiles to move up the ladder at work. Whether you are literally nailing the boss or just flirting like the slut you are, it is totally unacceptable to get promotions and raises that way. Those of us who are educated and good at what we do are not amused by this. Watching the dumb ass, bleached blonde become your boss when not only has she been there years less than you have, but she barely graduated high school, and had no prior experience can make an intelligent woman quite fucking stabby. Oh, you can bet your bottom dollar she spreads like margarine. Thanks for setting us back 70 years. Rendering our college educations almost useless in the face of what YOU are offering, we plug away, underpaid, and grotesquely overworked. It's bad enough we still don't make equal pay for equal work, now you've created a work environment that causes women to be treated as stupid underlings.  Much appreciated, whore!
Talking dirty, locker room banter, telling a bawdy joke or two, all totally acceptable behaviors for women. But here is where the sexy turns skanky, the woman who thinks she is being cute and quirky when she does it. If you are going to say something off-color, say it, say it with gusto, and use all the nasty words it takes to make your point or make me laugh. I have total respect for a chick who can tell a dirty joke with a straight face. What I can't respect is the one who is doing it just to get attention. As we all know now, I curse like a drunken sailor, so when I let loose with some genital musings, it's expected and oddly, not offensive. What does ruffle my tail feathers is when some wannabe hoo-er(Queens/Brooklyn terminology for whore), thinks she is being simply adorable by posting things on FB, for example, announcing to the world that she loves blow jobs and three-ways.  Let me be the first to tell you how this works. When we were in high school and/or college, and a dude talked about nothing but sex and all his supposed conquests, we all knew he wasn't getting any. Poor douche canoe sounded as desperate as he looked. Guess what, bitch, you do, too. Except he was desperate for cooch, you are desperate for attention. You are WAY worse!
Sexy is an attitude.  It is confidence, intelligence, and the ability to laugh at yourself. Ladies, pay attention!  It isn't what you show, it's what you DON'T show that catches a man's eye.  His imagination is all he needs to be excited by what he sees, not your flopping boobs stuffed into a bra that is too small so that the ladies are shoved up under your neck, with wrinkles lining them. Sexy is the way you help out a friend at work to get the credit they deserve, not the way you got HER promotion by throwing her under the bus. Sexy is a state of mind. It is knowing when to crack a bawdy one-liner and when NOT to hold up a sign announcing you just love guzzling man chowder. Am I being clear enough? If not, just go on being a skeezer, it won't change my life one bit. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

The fashion police are out and they are NOT happy!

My husband refers to them a Mexi-pants, but I'll bet many of you have your own name for them. You know exactly what I am talking about so don't pretend ignorance. Skinny jeans are one thing, and if you wear them in your size with a nice flouncy blouse or long sweater, they look really cute and kind of retro.  I do love all things retro, so this look makes me a bit wistful. However, when you choose to squeeze yourself into a pair two sizes too small and couple them with a snug-fitting top, you've created the Mexi-pant look. Extremely unattractive to look at and you know it's uncomfortable, five inches of muffin top flopping over the strained waistband of those poor jeans. We won't even mention the rolls of evil back fat that ripple down to meet the muffin top. It's almost like a denim ice cream cone topped with flabby ice cream. Super narrow at the bottom and blossoming out towards the top, this look should never leave the house and sting my eyes.

Another new clothing item to grace the mall is the cropped sweater.  Again, sort of retro, sort of not, I can almost embrace this billowy salute to winter. What I cannot wrap my mind around is someone wearing it without a shirt or tank top underneath that comes down below the bottom of the sweater. Most of the chicks I see wearing these adorable tops are not waif-thin. I am not waif-thin, before someone jumps ugly and starts telling me about glass houses and such. The difference between me and the other curvy chicks, I know I'm curvy. Never one to deny my size or shape, I recognize that I am not Abercrombie and Fitch skinny and I dress accordingly. When you make the decision to wear this sweater, put it on and look in the mirror. Especially if you've chosen to wear it with your favorite pair of Mexi-pants, the cute, flouncy, cropped sweater actually showcases that Michelin roll that is now exposed between the bottom of its hem and the waist of the pants. This is where the long tank top comes in, to be pulled down over the offending roll pulling it in and disguising it with color instead of exposed cellulite-riddled flesh. Please heed this little bit of advice, I don't want to toss my cookies each time you walk past me.
Heels are a great accent to a dressy outfit.  If I could walk in them, I'd own a closet filled with them. Since I stomp like Herman Munster in them, you'll see only a few pairs lining the bottom of my closet, scattered between sneakers and boots. There is such a wide array of high heeled shoes available today, colors, heights, platform, stiletto, wedgie, open-toed, bejeweled, you name it. Each one cuter than the last. So, I can see the temptation to own a few and want to sport them as often as possible. They do not, not ever, belong with a pair of leggings and short t-shirt. Unless, of course, you are loitering at street corners asking men if they'd like a "date" tonight. The same advice applies to wearing them with shorts.  There are some shorts that are completely appropriate for heels, but they are very few and I almost never see them on the tacky-assed heel wearers.  Usually, it's some hoebag in Daisy Duke cutoffs and a pair of hooker heels walking down the avenue. Wearing that outfit for anything but charging by the act or by the hour is unacceptable.

Socks with sandals are atrocious, but socks with flip flops are the pinnacle of fucktarded. Jamming the thong part into the giant white tubesock clad space between your toes and actually wandering out into the public eye is a crime upon humanity. Why do you do this? It doesn't feel right, it looks butt-assed ugly, and you're breaking an unwritten rule. There are certain shoes that were created for the sole purpose of wearing sans socks, not socks optional. These are sandals, gladiator sandals, any form of dressy heel, and goddamn flip flops.  Especially flip flops. Foreigners get away with the black socks and sandals thing, I guess because it helps the rest of us identify them at a glance. Don't shake your head at me, you do the same fucking thing, I just had the balls to actually say it.
Explain to me why you'd wear UGGS with shorts? If you are hot enough to wear booty shorts, then clearly your feet must be hot, too. Yes, I said booty shorts, you didn't think I was referring to someone wearing bermudas, did you?  A person wearing bermuda shorts already has more class and style and wouldn't dream of pairing them with an enormous pair of worn-out UGGS. Conversely, and I use that term for one person specifically who I know LOVES it, if it is so cold that you absolutely need to wear boots, why the fuck are you exposing your ass in a pair of shorts made for a toddler? Guess what, it doesn't look good. You may think you look like a sexy snow bunny. The rest of us see a bimbo who isn't bright enough to determine what is weather appropriate. Don't be that bimbo. Or be her, and expect me to laugh at you and possibly point and make rude commentary regarding your lack of intelligence and price range for your services.

Mom vests and sweaters. Every single one of you knows what these are and is equally horrified by them. The seasonally themed and holiday decorated knit monstrosities that only older ladies and dowdy moms wear thinking it's cute and kitschy. Dear Lord, it is anything but cute. Decorate your house, decorate a tree, but never, ever decorate yourself. Wearing a sweater with strategically placed pumpkins and bats is attractive to no one and social suicide. Unless you work at a senior center, preferably with a memory gardens wing, there isn't a human alive that can stomach looking at those horrific sweaters. Actually, don't even give them to your grandmother.  I'll bet she was bad ass in her youth and still would prefer a cheetah print to yuletide vomit on a cardigan. Trust me, I'll BE that old lady one day, and I can assure you, I'll be wearing the animal print.
Cutesy jewelry is so nauseating I can't even begin to tell you all the reasons why. Little shoes, butterflies on a string, Christmas trees, piggies, tiny little dangling footballs, Easter eggs, and all varieties of holiday-themed shit do not belong hanging from your ears or around your neck.  What are you, four years old?! Seeing it on a preschooler is absolutely adorable.  Seeing it on a middle aged woman is embarrassing, for me and you. I can't even bear to look at a woman decked out in thematic finery. I'm all over costume jewelry, as long as it is hip and stylish. Do not break out the fake shit to become a walking display of all things Autumnal. If I wanted to look at the changing leaves, I'll drive down Bancroft and admire the trees. The last place I want to look is your friggin earlobes. Grow the fuck up.
Getting agitated with me about what I've written only goes to prove one thing, you have no sense of style whatsoever.  Maybe your mother still dresses you?  Maybe, just maybe you have no mirrors. Buy yourself a nice full-length one and nail that bitch to the back of your bedroom door. Once you've done that you must promise me and the rest of society that you will stand in front of it every morning after getting dressed and before actually leaving the house.  If you cringe and turn away, chances are we will, too. Do not walk. Run to your closet and fix your outfit, fix it based on what I've said here and spare the rest of us the agony of having to look at your bad taste. Yes, I am judging you, someone has to...you still go out in public looking like a total douche bag.  I may not dress in Prada, but I wouldn't dream of committing the crimes listed here.  Are you friggin kidding me right now???