Friday, December 21, 2012

Jingle Balls

It's the Friday before Christmas and it's fucking fabulous!  After doing a little more shopping, I am feeling quite festive and jolly. As such, I believe that today is the perfect day to share with you the song that started it all. The song I first parodied about 4-5 years ago, in partial collaboration with a good friend of mine who shares my mental sickness. So lovely, tuneful, and melodic, this song actually got some public airtime at a Christmas party that very year. Today, I give to you, from the bottom of my heart, all up and through you...

"Jingle Balls"

Sitting on my couch,
I unzipped my fly,
And soon my little ho'
Was seated by my side.

She took one look at them,
Her mouth fell open wide,
I told her keep it just like that
While I put them inside.


Jingle Balls,
Jingle Balls,
My penis is so big.
Take it all in your mouth,
You filthy little pig!!!



Lick those balls,
Suck those balls,
Blow me everyday.
If you keep me satisfied,
I won't run away.




I like tongue action,
I won't tell a lie.
If you are a willing slut,
I'll unzip my fly.

My balls are my best friends,
They make me feel so good.
If you treat them oh so right,
I promise to get wood.


Lick those balls,
Suck those balls,
Blow me everyday.
If you keep me satisfied,
I won't run away.

Jingle Balls,
Jingle Balls,
My penis is so big.
Take it all in your mouth,
You filthy little pig!!!


Thursday, December 20, 2012

Frosty the Crack Ho'

Five more days till Christmas which means there are four more shopping days to buy your ho' a little something special. Show her some appreciation during this festive time of year. Personally, I don't know any trick turning streetwalkers, but I am quite certain some of you do. For those of you with close, intimate relationships with a ho' or two, this one's for you.

"Frosty the Crack Ho'"

Frosty the Crack Ho' was a ratched, smelly slut,
With greasy skin and some nappy dreads,
And a giant ghetto butt.

Frosty the Crack Ho' had chlamydia they say,
She sniffs blow but the fellas know
She's one hell of a lay.

There must have been some poison in that
Last batch of cocaine.
For when she snorted those two lines,
She screamed out in pain.

Oh, Frosty the Crack Ho'
Tried to dial 9-1-1,
But her pimp just said, as he smacked her head,
"Fucking bitch, you sho' is dumb!"

Bitchedy slap, slap,
Bitchedy slap, slap,
Get back on the street.
Bitchedy slap, slap,
Bitchedy slap, slap,
While you still has feet.



Frosty the Crack Ho' knew her looks would go to hell.
So she said, "Let's fuck,
And we'll try our luck
At making your dick swell."

Down on her knock-knees,
With his shriveled cock in hand,
Stroking up and down,
Trying not to frown,
Saying, "You is one fine man."

He gave her crabs and HPV,
And then it came in spades,
He only laughed as she did cry,
And told her he had AIDS.

Now Frosty the Crack Ho'
Was pissed off I won't lie.
No more turning tricks or sucking dicks,
'Cause she was gonna die.

Bitchedy slap, slap,
Bitchedy slap, slap,
This crack ho' must quit.
Bitchedy slap, slap,
Bitchedy slap, slap,
Bitch, you ain't worth shit.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

All I Want for Christmas...

Happy Hump Day, ass monkeys! I hope you are all enjoying the new and improved Christmas carols I am sharing with you. Hopefully, some of you are spreading the cheer as you sing to the elderly at their rest homes.  Maybe you've visited a children's hospital or two and entertained them with a lovely carol. Perhaps you've sat by the fire with your family and had a rousing sing-along.  In any event, in order to help you continue sharing holiday cheer with everyone you meet, I've prepared another carol for you. Guys, maybe you can sing this during your next trip to the strip club.

"All I Want for Christmas is Bigger Tits"

All I want for Christmas is bigger tits,
Some bigger tits,
Just some bigger tits.
Gee if I could only have some bigger tits,
Then I would be a better stripper.

It feels so wrong to ask some guy
To open up the buttons of his overcoat.
Gosh oh gee, how happy I'd be,
If I had something he could motorboat!

All I want for Christmas
Is giant cans,
Some giant cans,
Just some giant cans.
Gee if I could only have some giant cans,
Then I would be a better stripper.



All the boys in my old high school
Would love to get to second base with me.
But now when I offer them a special lap dance,
They ask where the hell are your titties???

All I want for Christmas
Is big huge tits,
Some big huge tits,
Just some big huge tits.
Gee if I could only have some big huge tits,
Then I would be the BESTEST stripper!!!



Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Dominatrix Wonderland

Happy Tuesday before Christmas to all. Continuing along the path I've chosen for you, I'd like to present you with another one of my versions of holiday cheer. Out with the old and in with the new. Let's toss tradition aside and embrace a season of eclectic debauchery, shall we?

"Dominatrix Wonderland"

You're tied up, as you should be,
It's your pain, that excites me.
A beautiful sight,
I'm happy tonight,
In Dominatrix Wonderland.

No more is your skin so fine,
Here to stay are the whip lines.
You cry out once more,
Then I lock the door,
To my Dominatrix Wonderland.

For your nipples, here's a bag of clothespins,
I will clip from North to way down South.
You'll wince and a tear will drip,
Down your face.
Then I'll have to smack you in your mouth.



Later on, I'll use fire,
While you're strung up, by a wire.
I'll drip candle wax,
Straight down your crack.
In my Dominatrix Wonderland.

Once you're broken, I can have you serve me.
And pretend that you're my own footstool.
You'll stay on your knees,
Since you belong there.
You're my slave, you filthy, dirty, fool.

When you grovel, I get happy.
When you fuck up,
I feel slappy.
My paddle's the plan, when you say, "Yes, ma'am"
It's my Dominatrix Wonderland.

Monday, December 17, 2012

I Saw Mommy Licking Santa's Balls

This week, my friends, you are in for a little holiday treat. As much as I love sharing my opinions with you and providing much needed PSAs to the inhabitants of planet Earth, I also love Christmas Carols.  But I love them in my very own way...the way of the parody. Songs sung the way I would have written them had someone commissioned me to provide the world with its now famous list of seasonal carols.
Today, I've decided to start with the old standard, "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus"...MY WAY.
To help you sing along, I am including a link to the instrumental version of the original song, I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.


"I Saw Mommy Licking Santa’s Balls"

I saw Mommy licking Santa’s balls
Underneath his crotch fro, snowy white.
I tried hard to tiptoe,
Then he asked for a blow.
I had no idea of what the fuck,
As I heard him saying, “Suck, bitch, suck!”
Then I saw Mommy swallow Santa’s load,
As he shot it at her stupid face.
Oh what a hoot it would have been,
If Daddy had only seen,
Mommy licking Santa’s balls last niiiiiight!


Friday, December 7, 2012

Judgmental Jesus, or who the fuck do you think you are?

Coming from me, this must sound awfully hypocritical. But just take the ride with me for a little while, and let's see where it takes us. Some folks fancy themselves a few steps closer to perfection than most, and so have the tendency to look down their noses at the rest of us. Obviously, these people don't own mirrors and can't hear themselves when they speak. At least it would seem improbable based on the way they speak about others. Having a good sense of self-esteem is not something to shake a stick at, so that isn't what bugs me. What bugs the shit out of me, what really rubs me the wrong way, is people who think they know everything, think they are better than everyone, and don't hesitate to "share" this bit of wisdom and and gifts of knowledge with anyone who will listen. I have little to no patience with these people. We all have our own degree of awesome, but running around town announcing it shows you have no fucking class.
My Christmas tree expresses my eclectic style. It may not have parallel rows of perfect garland, a complimentary color scheme, velvet bows, or hand-blown glass ornaments, but it's mine and I love it. I know there are many critics out there that would tear my big, fat Noble Fir apart, branch by branch. I'd hear how ghetto it looks, how mismatched and poor white trash the ornaments are, that it is out of balance and has no flow. They'd be right, but that is definitely not the point. The fact is, I like it that way.  It's my house, my tree, my mishmosh of ornaments from Christmases past, and it suits ME. But the "experts" would tell me that I need a theme, a color scheme, less is more. No, more is more, and I LOVE more. Growing up, we'd call it a Puerto Rican tree, and don't get all fucking offended by that comment. All it meant was that it was sufficiently ornate to suit the holiday. If you grew up in Queens, you'd know exactly what I mean. Those people knew how to throw down when it came to decorating! If I called my tree by that particular nationality, I was bestowing upon it the greatest possible compliment.
Splenda is God's greatest creation next to the coffee bean. Don't tell me about the cancer it causes in lab rats, or how it isn't organic, causes migraines and weight gain. Even if I tell you I love the thrill of taking risks with my health, you'll still shake your head and admonish my choice to pour not one but two packets into my multiple cups of joe per day. Here are the facts as I see them. I am a human, not a rat. The amount they inject into rats at one time is more than I could ingest in a month, and they are tiny little fuckers. I have other cancers in my gene pool that scare me a helluva lot more than my artificial sweetener ever could. Migraines scare me even less.  I've been getting them since I turned 23 and frankly, it sure as hell isn't because I used Splenda, it wasn't invented back then! Weight gain is caused by the inability to put the fork down, plain and simple.  Any pounds I pack on are done solely by me and my yo-yo weight issues and intense love affair with food. But thanks for the unwanted advice about what goes into my body.

There are those who find my musical tastes to be less than appealing. My own husband will get into the car with me and immediately change the station because my groove is not his style. He uses other words to describe it, but I won't share those with you. I don't care if you think I'm not PC, but just because I allow you to judge my expressiveness doesn't mean I won't cut a bitch if you criticize him. Maybe I am stuck in the past musically, maybe it's because today's music sucks giant hairy balls. I really enjoy SiriusXM satellite because I can stay in the decades I enjoy and not have to scan the whole fucking dial to find a suitable song for driving. The 40s-80s are where I tend to hover, mixing in old alternative/punk, classic rock, reggae and ska, show tunes, Sinatra and Martin, and a few of today's country artists, specifically Toby Keith. And yeah, I do love me some Josh Groban.
Eclectic doesn't begin to describe what I listen to on any given day, but I love it all and couldn't delete one of them from my repertoire. People will say that you have to listen to the music from the era you are living in, although I cannot imagine why! If you actually enjoy the sound of voices that have been auto-tuned, then you are tone deaf and couldn't possibly appreciate the melodic sounds coming out of the mouths of Billy Eckstine or Etta James. At this point, you are wondering if I am really 41 and not actually 81. Go fuck yourself sideways. Some of you swear by one and only one genre of music. That doesn't mean that all the others suck. What it does mean is that you are narrow-minded, not the musical genius you believe yourself to be. Playing air guitar along with Led Zeppelin doesn't qualify you to start a band, nor does it make you an expert on all things rock. I say rock out to whatever you like, and I'll do the same. If you don't like it, plug your fucking ears.
Oh my God, how can you possibly drive that foreign gas guzzler?!  It's so bad for the environment and you are feeding overseas oil companies and it's just..just..bad. Are you serious? If you want to drive a Prius, which my daughter has told me, for her would be social suicide, go right ahead, nerdsack. People choose the cars they drive for all different reasons, none being more valid than the other. But don't presume to tell me that my choice is wrong. Wrong for who? For you? I don't care if you disagree with what I've chosen to drive, I happen to love both our vehicles. Yes, our cars are Japanese, and yes, it costs an arm and a leg to gas those bitches up every week. SO? And while you are plodding along in your little Hyundai shitmobile, I am cruising in luxury, listening to my awesome tunes. You can do your part for the environment and I will turn on my seat warmer and pump up my lumbar support in my Earth-unfriendly crossover SUVs. I don't tell you to buy a real car and stop being such a fucking douchebag, don't tell me to trade in the Lexus for a Leaf.
Everyone is entitled to an opinion. You are even welcome to share it once in a while. But don't expect that I'll listen to you. Opinions aren't facts, they are just something you happen to believe today. Tomorrow is a different story.  We all do things for different reasons, whether it's because we've always done it that way, our moms did it that way and it's what we are comfortable with, it's easier, we've extensively researched it, or because we just feel like it. The point is, it's our way, not yours, and you have no right to try to change it because you don't agree or think you are better than us. You are definitely not better than me. I told you earlier, we all have our own degrees of awesome, and I happen to have a surplus. Perfection is not an accident, nor is attainable so don't think you are fooling anyone. Are you friggin kidding me right now???


Wednesday, December 5, 2012

It's my road rage, and I'll scream if I want to...

Screaming behind the wheel, flipping random drivers the bird, leaning on my horn, it's all part of my charm. I see someone make a douchecanoe move while driving, I have an overwhelming urge to call them out on it. Whether my window is open or not, is not the point. The point is, you drive like a fucking lunatic, and I have to tell you. Riding me for two exits when I am trying to get over is not my idea of considerate driving. Nor is jumping in front of me to go slower than snail shit. I'm not always in a rush, so that isn't what pisses me off. The lack of awareness that there are other people on the road, and the inability to make rational judgements...those two things really frost my cookies. If I lived in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, where you only see two cars on the road every few hours or so, I'd have a different perspective on the topic. I'd also face less assholes while driving, so that would solve my problem but give me a whole other set of things to bitch about, like a lack of human contact. But when there is nary a soul on the freeway, drive as you'd like. Go fast, go slow.  Hell, change lanes every 45 seconds if it gets you hot. However, if you are in an area with many other drivers accompanying you on your journey, open your fucking eyes, and treat the rest of us the way you'd like to be treated.
When stopped at a red light, do not use this opportunity to fall asleep, apply makeup, or read a book you have stashed on the passenger seat. As the light changes, I am chomping at the bit to make my move, whether it be to go straight or turn. Left turns seem to have the worst offenders. I think people take mental vacations at left turn red lights. That's the only explanation that makes sense when I see the light turn green and watch as the lead car just sits there, waiting. Waiting for what? A better color option? Or have they completely shut down, no longer paying attention to the traffic lights. Yes, I am the first one to lean on my horn, especially if I am watching not just the lead car fuck me over, but the next few leaving 4 car lengths in between as they turn while riding their brakes. Seriously? What are you afraid of exactly? The actual direction called left? Other cars? The center divider? Maybe you should turn in your license, because I will have to slam my horn so hard that you may shit your pants. Unless you like that sort of thing...

Since I possess no filter, particularly as I get older, even the most minor offense doesn't escape my eye or my mouth. Should you be the one jackknifed across the aisle in the supermarket, carrying on a major conversation with someone jackknifed in the other direction, and I need to pass, and you SEE me and make no attempt to move, even after I've said excuse me, we've got a problem. Actually, you have the problem. I have the solution. Pull you head out of your ass, make plans to see this person in a venue where conversation is welcomed, and get the fuck out of my way. Not in that order.  Getting out of my way should be the first order of business on your social calendar. I have no issue telling you to move your fucking chat elsewhere if you choose to ignore me. You may have nothing to do and nowhere to go but I have a life to lead. God help you if you are not speaking English, as well. That is the equivalent of whispering, and I am going to assume you are talking shit about me. This doesn't bode well for you. I may have to remind you of the fact that you are in MY country, and to speak the goddamn language, then I'll tell you to get the fuck out of my airspace.
Should you be the parent of the child running butt wild through the restaurant I am trying to enjoy a meal in, I will comment loudly enough for you to hear. This won't be praise for your stellar parenting skills, this will be an observation of how you probably shouldn't have bred in the first place. I may even have to tell your little shit to go sit down with Mommy and Daddy.  Do you really want ME disciplining your child? Doesn't phase me in the least bit, I actually know how to do it. And since your bratty fucker is running around my table, I know for a fact that you do not. Allow me to assist you in your quest to raise your child. One day, I will start charging a fee for doing what you should have done from the moment you walked into the joint. Maybe then you'll figure out that the rest of the world may not find your child quite as charming as you do.  As a matter of fact, we probably dislike them with great gusto.
Calling my house and trying to sell me something I don't want is considered a crime by me. Usually, it's some bogus bullshit scam anyway, but even if it isn't, I am not interested. Doesn't matter what it is, I promise you, I don't want it. Lower rates, better phone service, a great new credit card, home owner's insurance, magazines, or an opportunity to enjoy a time-share if I'd only sit through a 3 hour presentation. None of these things appeal to me on any level. If I want a magazine subscription, I'll seek it out on my own. Donations are made by me when I deem the cause worthy, not because you called me during what you know to be the dinner hour in most households. Telling me you are calling from a different time zone does not excuse the poor timing. Making calls is your job, you should know where you are calling and what fucking time it is. Many telemarketers ears have been blasted by my booming bitch voice, letting them no in no uncertain terms that their call is not only unwelcome, but offensive, annoying, and that they should not ever call my house again. Hmm, I guess I don't put it quite as nicely as all that, but I'll bet you can fill in those blanks.
So many offenses, so little time. My feeling is this, if you have bugged me enough that I can't hold it in, you have earned the right to hear what I have to say. This may make me sound like a cranky, old bitch. I really don't care. Life is too short to put up with other people's lack of consideration for their fellow man. Our time on this planet is brief and fleeting. I don't intend to spend those moments being treated like dirty dog shit. We all deserve to enjoy our limited time here, and that includes being able to go about your day without suffering through the rudeness and lack of common courtesy that we are all entitled to as human beings. Maybe if more of you were like me, more people would get the hint, straighten up, and fly the fuck right. Do I think you will join me in my quest for a more considerate universe? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

I want, I want...yeah, me, too...I want less sparkly green cat puke this Christmas!

'Tis the season...to be greedy. Working with children, I am exposed to this generation's inflated sense of entitlement on a daily basis. Kids are generally sweet and giving, of their love, hugs, and oddball art projects. I appreciate each and every one. What I do NOT appreciate is listening to the tales of how they are asking Santa for "twenty hundred fifty million sixty" toys. Of course, we all sent our letters to the North Pole as children. Some lists were longer than others, admittedly. But I don't remember expecting to receive each and every item on that list. I knew to expect MAYBE one. These little brats know beyond the shadow of a doubt, if they've asked, they will receive. Because this won't create a world filled with adults expecting others to bend over backwards to ensure they get everything they want? They will think that employers should really just call them and offer jobs, why should they have to apply? Interview? I'm fucking awesome, ask my parents.  Just hire me and pay me what I want. Right. Life is a bed of roses.
They've been gearing up for this season of overindulgence since right before Halloween and it's only increased exponentially. From getting gifts on Thanksgiving because it has suddenly become a gift-giving holiday, to baking cookies and eating candy for breakfast, the winter holidays have become a blended blur of spoiling kids rotten. Is it guilt from not being present in the life of a child that is supposed to be important to you? Do you stop once a year and consider your emotional and possibly physical absence during the other 11 months? Is that what throws you into a tailspin of decorating, baking, shopping, indulging...being an ass? Many of you don't realize that when you are home all friggin day long and you leave your kid at school till 4 or 5pm, you are prioritizing yourself over your child.  Then you attempt to make up for it with things and privileges like letting them stay up late to watch even more TV than they already do so that they come to school out of sorts. Genius parenting.

As an adult, I can tell you with confidence, I do not remember most of the presents I got for Christmas. I can barely remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday, I can't be expected to recall the name of the doll I wanted. But, most of us are in the same boat. The things of our past are long forgotten. What remains are the memories of family and friends. The laughter, the food, the hugs, the time spent with those we loved and maybe didn't see very often throughout the year. I can still remember traditions like how I got to decorate the tree, wearing the Santa hat I still own, while my mom decorated the house as Christmas music played in the background. Baking trays of cookies with my mom and needing to hide out in my room while she wrapped gifts so I wouldn't see. And I did because I love surprises! Then again, I did because my mom told me to, and I knew not to question her or disobey her wishes. A whole other topic, I know, but I feel as though it's slightly connected to this train of thought.
I can be horrified for hours just thinking about the children of excess, but it's a waste of my time. Bitch-slapping their parents might be temporarily satisfying, yet could land me in jail. So, I'd like to take the time to tell you what tickles me during the Christmas season. Picking out the right tree.  It not only has to have the right height, but it must possess the proper girth, and shape. No long, skinny trees for this broad, nosiree Bob. Give me a fattie or don't bother. Next, it must have good smell. When I come home, I want to be whacked in the nose with scent of Christmas. Having grown up with fake trees, a real one is such a treat for me. But the very real blanket of needles that covers 1/2 of my living room when the tree is brought in, again when we set it up on the stand, and one more time when we wrap the lights and garland send me into angry fits. Vacuuming sucks balls anyway, but having to do it over and over because I don't want to jam up the Dyson and have to empty in between, is fucking torture.
Once the lights and garland are done, it's our daughter's turn to work on the tree.  She picks out the decorations and hangs them where she deems appropriate, leaving out the bottom two rows of branches because, well, we have a cat. That should clearly explain why the bottom of our tree is bare every year. Shiny, dangling temptations are just an exercise in futility and I don't need to give the cat another reason to be bad. The pointy needles are all the reasons she needs. A kitty who loves things like butter, cream cheese, BBQ pork, spaghetti, cake, and whipped cream, is suddenly transformed into a feral dumb shit in the presence of a tree in her house. She is hungry all the time due to her over-active thyroid, and now we present her with a giant snack on a stick. And snack away she does. Which would be fine except for the part where she vomits up green and sparkly crap all over the house each time she snacks. Garland tastes pretty good with a few fir needles, or so she'd have you believe by the sheer volume of what she winds up binging and purging every December.
Egg nog, a roaring fire, and Christmas music...not much to ask. Preferring to watch others open carefully purchased gifts instead of demanding more, more, more for myself, I am the total opposite of the little shits that chafe my fucking hide. We can only hope that as they mature, they will figure out what's really important and it most certainly is not the volume of gifts with your name on them under the goddamn tree.  Parents, pay attention to what I am about to say. Cease the excessive gift giving, cookie binging, candy stuffing, and late night wildness you are allowing to become holiday tradition for your family. You are the reason my world is going down the toilet and I have absolutely nothing good to look forward to in my old age. Your spawn is going to ruin life as we know it if you keep this up. Cut the little bastards off at the knees, no more stuff! Bake with them, sing Christmas carols with them, build gingerbread houses with them, visit older family members together, and for fuck's sake, teach them how to GIVE instead of demanding more and more shit. This is not what I've taught my child. And it's is definitely not the world in which I want to grow old. Fix it, douchebuckets!  Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Monday, December 3, 2012

Your mood swings are making me seasick...and other friendship blunders

Before you jump ugly with me, I know we are ALL guilty of these things. I'd just like to point them out as a kind of PSA to help others enhance rather than destroy beautiful friendships.  As we know, you must be a friend in order to have friends. Some call it the Golden Rule, while others call it mindfulness. Whatever title you'd like to assign it, the sentiment is the same. You can't act like an ass and expect people to fall all over themselves to like you. Seems simple, by all appearances it's easy to do. Yet there are more ass clowns than good friends in the world, and I am sick and tired of being sick and tired of it.  It's no wonder most of us can count our true friends on one hand and have fingers left over. Truly fucking sad.
Nobody has a charmed life, I am fully aware of that fact. Good days and bad days are all part of the process. Explain to me when it became socially acceptable to abuse someone else in the name of releasing tension. That is what you are doing, right? You had a fight with your sister, so you yell at me because I walked on the right side of you instead of the left. The dog shit on the carpet.  Good reason to give me the silent treatment. You raised a rude teenager, it's my fault? That's what you are telling me when you snap at me two hours after your kid tells you to fuck off. Unload all over me if you want, as a good friend I am here to listen, commiserate, and plot the other person's unfortunate demise with you. What I am NOT here for is to be your punching bag. Verbal abuse hurts, too. It leaves invisible scars that never heal. Friends don't scar each other.
Worse than just taking your shit out on a friend is the emotional seesaw you put us on when your moods change like the wind several times throughout the day. Let me be clear, I am not inside your head.  I have no idea what is rolling around in there and why you are mad one minute and laughing the next. Aside from assuming you are bipolar, which is treatable with medication, I'm going to keep my distance until you decide what kind of day WE are having.  Most of us go through mood shifts throughout the course of any given day. No one is happy all the time. Well, I suppose those of you fortunate to be prescribed mood-altering drugs are, but the rest of us aren't. Vacillating between road rage and laughing yourself to tears with your best friend, feelings and emotions ebb and flow like ocean tides. Ride your personal rollercoaster alone, I won't be joining you.
The conversation hog kills me. Good friends want to share the minutae of their lives with you. Like the act of telling the story somehow validates the occurrence. We all do it. But most of us know how to listen to the stories of others with as much enthusiasm.  Being able to listen at least as much as you talk is crucial to any friendship. Toby Keith's song, I Wanna Talk About Me, sums it up pretty nicely in the line, "I like talking about you you you you, usually, but occasionally I wanna talk about meeeeee." We all have friends like that. The ones who are constantly bubbling over with more news and things that they just HAVE to tell you. Yet, when you actually have something to say, they listen with half an ear, respond briefly, and steer the subject back to them. Ask them tomorrow about the topic you brought up. They will have no idea what you are talking about...they weren't really interested yesterday, and so didn't really listen. Inconsiderate buffoons.

Do me a favor. No, really, do me a favor. Friends are there to lend a hand when needed. That is supposed to be a universal truth. But, what is closer to factual is most people are quick to ask for help, money, strong arms to lift something, a truck to haul something, a folding table, whatthefuckever. Ask them for something, even if it's just a small amount of time. They are almost always too busy, overbooked, unavailable, completely out of the item you've requested, currently in massive amounts of pain rendering them unable to lift, carry, or lug...basically, you are shit out of luck. Why? Because they just don't give a fly-swarmed shit, it's not about them. Your needs are not important, and why should they be? What does that friend stand to gain by lending you their truck to haul your Christmas tree from the lot? Not a goddamn thing.
Friendship is not a competition. Well, it's not supposed to be, yet I see it more often now than ever. If you buy a new jacket, your friend compliments you on it and goes out and buys one slightly nicer. When you tell her that your husband took you out to dinner, you find out that hers is now taking her on a weekend trip. Don't tell her your child has good grades because hers has PERFECT grades and is currently on the honor roll, plays 4 sports, and is assisting the principal in matters of student affairs. There's nothing you can say that she won't try to one-up you about, so don't bother coming to her with any celebratory news. She's someone who actually embodies the song Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better. Don't even bother singing back, she does that better, too. Take heart, she does this because her self-esteem is in the gutter. And you like yourself, right? You should, Tard!
Don't be a doormat. You are a good friend, you deserve to be treated as such. Stop allowing yourself to be used as a punching bag or a gross inconvenience. People who behave that way shouldn't be permitted to have access to your friendship. Yet, we'll do it over and over again. Why? Because good people always look for the good in others. We make excuses for their inappropriate actions and pave the way for them to be repeat offenders. It's a vicious cycle, and if you really care about that person, it's really hard to break. For one reason, you've allowed it to go on for so long, they think it's acceptable. Another reason is that usually, people who act any of the ways I've described can't handle hearing anything negative about themselves and do not respond well to any form of criticism, constructive or otherwise. It takes a seriously strong person to stand up to an asshole, especially an abusive one. I'm pretty fucking strong, but truthfully, it's easier to be passive-aggressive than face the fuckers head-on.  Are you friggin kidding me right now???



Friday, November 30, 2012

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???

Thursday, November 29, 2012

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???


Wednesday, November 28, 2012

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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Monday, November 26, 2012

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???




Friday, November 23, 2012

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???


Wednesday, November 21, 2012

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???

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

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???