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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fashion police are out and they are NOT happy!

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

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

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

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

More delusions of grandeur, or when did you qualify for a Royal Wedding?

Way back when, in the days when people in my generation were planning their weddings, things were quite different than they are today.  Gross understatement of the century. The parents of the bride paid for the wedding, so the mother of the bride had veto power when it came to much of the planning and decision-making. The parents of the groom paid for the honeymoon, and they had little or no say in the planning except for handing the bride their guest list, to be edited at her and her mom's whim. And why should they have a say, they aren't paying for it and the wedding is about the bride, isn't it? The groom came along for the ride when seeking out the reception hall, for food tastings, and accompanied the bride alone when attending band showcases, making for a cheap date night. His responsibility was organizing his men to rent the tuxedos and paying for the flowers. The bridal attendants bought their dresses and had to show up to fittings.  The maid of honor organized the bridal shower.
Once the reception hall was chosen, the bride and her mother would narrow down choices for things like table linens, centerpieces, matchbooks, and favors. Then the bride and groom would go through what was left and made a few decisions of their own. Papers were signed, boxes were checked off, and blanks were filled in by the wedding planner who worked for that particular hall. You didn't really get back in touch with that person until you chose your band, picked out your menu items, and had your final head count so they knew how much to rape you, I mean charge you. Little details like favors were taken care of later on, usually by the bride and her mom or some other crafty relative. There were more important things to worry about.  Like getting the church booked for the date you've chosen, signing up for pre-cana, getting your wedding gown (notice I used the singular, not the plural), reserving the limos, and deciding where you and your soon-to-be spouse were going to live after you said "I do" and returned from your honeymoon.
Things like the photographer and videographer also need to be booked ahead as well as choosing your hair and makeup person and booking them so you aren't scrambling at the last minute. But, believe it or not, these details all fall into place. The bride's mom has been looking forward to and mentally planning this moment since the day her little girl was born, she can do this with her eyes closed, standing on one leg. She has all the details in her head, the timing, and exactly how it is going down, even if you haven't a clue. She will lead the bride and groom through the process so completely that they should arrive at the altar unscathed, without stress, and ready to enjoy the party afterwards. Even though it may seem like you are constantly busy, looking at halls, listening to bands, and tasting all kinds of food until you want to barf up a lung, this part of the process is brief in the grand scheme of things.
The most stress I remember feeling was over the guest list. There were people I simply didn't want at my wedding and it was causing such a fucking riot, you'd have thought I told my own mother not to show up. Fights, screaming, nasty phone calls, crying, door slamming, and you name it...all over one goddamn person.  And she wasn't even related. The person in question, and I am really using that term loosely, had caused more fights within our two families than all of us and the entire planning process combined. An ex-friend of mine who decided to go "single, white female" on me and then get mad at me when it didn't work the way she planned. This bitch was a complete and total loon, who didn't belong within a 200 yard radius of my wedding, but had some folks insisting she attend because of who she was dating at the time.Yes, I was the idiot who introduced her to my brother-in-law, I made my bed, you don't need to drive that point home for me.  That point was driven home like a fucking tire iron through the eye socket for many months up to and including my wedding day. So, I understand that planning a wedding isn't all wine and roses.
Fast forward to today, 2012.  What the fuck happened to planning a beautiful ceremony to begin your lives together and then a fun party afterwards for you and those who came to wish you well? It's a three-ring circus, and I do NOT understand it.  I suppose it has something to do with the bloated sense of entitlement this generation feels. They believe the world owes them something, starting with their parents and trickling down to distant relatives and friends. Wedding planners, event coordinators, hair dressers and makeup artists summoned before dawn's ass crack to ensure that each and every person in the bridal party looks a certain way, music directors, itineraries, and all sorts of crazy shit that I am sure I am missing, but happy to have not dealt with 20 years ago. Where does it say on your birth certificate that you are entitled to a wedding to rival Charles and Di's? Pull that shit out and re-read it.  Mine is most certainly missing that clause, and I'll bet the farm that yours is, too.
What changed so drastically that now requires a staff of people to plan and organize a wedding? I'll tell you what...weddings have become major, Hollywood gala events. Even for the average couple, a wedding is a red carpet happening and has to top the last one they attended.  This is why guys propose using a flash mob and then post the whole thing on YouTube, and why the Father/Daughter dance is now choreographed and also posted on YouTube for Jesus and all to see. Did I say I wanted to see your fucktarded dance with your dad?  And isn't a proposal a very private and romantic thing meant to be shared only by the couple?  Now it's just another public, attention-whoring spectacle to be witnessed by anyone and everyone so the couple feels somewhat validated in their imagined coolness. Will the wedding night booty be next?  Will those who attended the wedding receive a DVD with full bedroom coverage of the entire night, including the part where they almost fall asleep during the act because they are so fucking tired from an entire day and night of celebrating?

Have you all seen the wedding websites couples now have? Yes, websites. The couple designs a site, with the help of an internet wedding web designer, containing family photos dating back to infancy, life stories of both the bride and groom, information about the upcoming nuptials, the honeymoon, and links to the bridal registry so you can ensure the purchase of the incredibly expensive dishes they want but will never use, yet feel they should have. How goddamn important do these kids think they are? If you are being invited to their wedding, you should probably know much of their story, and shouldn't need a website to learn all about them.  These sites will tell you where they met, their love story, the details of the proposal, and all the information that a friend or family member should already know if they give even the tiniest shit about this couple. Slightly self-important?
Of course, this is only part of the web ordeal you will be subject to for their wedding. Many people are now asking you, the invited guest, to not only purchase an overpriced shower gift, a nice outfit for the actual wedding, possibly plane tickets and/or hotel booking, but they are also "suggesting" that you fund their honeymoon and the activities they enjoy while at their dream destination. I kid you not, I've actually had to do this for a friend. You receive the link to the site where you are flooded with lovely photos and accompanying background music detailing the destination the couple has chosen for their honeymoon. Then, you are directed to view all the amenities and activities they would just love to enjoy while they are there. This is when you get to see the list priced from high to low, for you to choose how much money you want to spend on what part of their trip for which you'd like to pay. Realize that you can also assist in funding the plane tickets for them to get there if you are feeling flush and want to show off, because when you do purchase something, your name is now and forever associated with your purchase. Thinking about cheaping out? They have made it almost impossible to do that knowing that everyone will see what you've spent.  Clever motherfucks.

Have I mentioned that the bride now wears TWO dresses? You read correctly, two. Why she needs two is completely beyond my scope of understanding, but she wears one to the actual ceremony and changes into another for the reception. Kind of like a Quinceanera, where the girl changes her shoes from flats to heels, now I suppose the bride wears her "virginal" long gown for the church portion and her slut, bitch, whore dress for the reception?  Maybe it's her "old married hag" dress?  I haven't the foggiest clue. What I do know is that it's just another ridiculous and unnecessary expense that further facilitates these overindulged pieces of shit to behave like brats. Acting like spoiled princesses instead of future wives, these chicks act like their vajayjays are pure as the driven snow instead of like NY expressway snow, plowed within an inch of its life, needing two fucking white dresses.  Bitch, please.
What we have here is just another piece of evidence that today's young adults are just as spoiled and entitled feeling as today's youth. You've bred a generation of fucking deluded douchecanoes and now the rest of us have to attend their gala wedding weekends, spend more cash than they deserve because we don't like them that much anyway, and feel obligated to look at their moronic websites, YouTube videos, and other assorted asinine bullshit associated with weddings of 2012. I hate to give this advice, but if you really expect friends and family to deal with the stupidity of your "fairytale" wedding crap, do us all a favor, elope. Save us the hassle and the end result is the same. The question I have is, will you divorce with the same amount of fanfare? The rest of us are dying to know. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Watch your fucking mouth!

You heard me, that language will not be tolerated here.  Words you will never hear spoken by me. Something about using the right word for the job just appeals to me, tickles my fancy. Most people use way too many words to express a simple thought in the attempt to avoid using one well-placed curse word. What's the point? To me, some messages get lost in translation when you talk around the four-letter word rather than just saying it.  I've heard people go on and on, trying to get their point across, usually quite angry, but never get there because they were too puritanical to throw in a spicy word or two. Talking to someone like that bores the shit out of me, I'm always waiting for the punch line.
Never allowed to curse in the house until I turned fifteen, I honed my skills at school talking with my friends. We cursed every chance we got, walking down the hallway, in the cafeteria, during play rehearsals, and in the notes we passed back and forth in class. Bodily functions, body parts, insults, exclamations, you name it, we had the terminology and we used it...profusely.  When we were younger, it was purely to appear cool.  Kids who didn't curse were considered dorky and you bet your ass I wasn't going to be a dork. Out of parental earshot, we used the foulest language we could come up with, right or wrong. Correct usage came with time.

Since practice makes perfect, I cursed as much as humanly possible without getting caught.  That was a trick, since I was in a Catholic school and nuns had morphing powers mere mortals didn't have, they could be in your back pocket before the tail end of "motherfucker" left your lips. I think it made us better at it, far better than other kids our age. This would also be the reason we passed notes more efficiently and were able to help friends out on tests more stealthily. Kind of like FBI or CIA training, we learned to be seen and not heard, and often, not even seen. We have a very particular set of skills acquired over a very long Catholic school career.
Once proper usage had been learned, we were able to tweak it to suit our meaning quite easily. By the time I was actually allowed to curse in the house, with the exception of "fuck" because that one was too harsh by my mom's standards, I could let fly like a truck driving sailor. And boy did I. My mom would have to remind me when we were in public to whisper those beloved words so others didn't think her lovely little girl had a barroom mouth. I really did, but strangers didn't need to know, in her opinion. So, I saved it for the car and in the house. Maybe that is where my driving vocabulary came from, all that practice in the car?

Speaking of car vocabulary, even people who don't normally curse, swear up the left and down the right once they get behind the wheel. Something about other drivers and their inability to drive according to your standards brings out the sass mouth in everyone. For me, even if the other driver doesn't hear me, and I go out of my way to ensure that they do whenever possible, I feel better after spewing as much profanity as possible at them, their mothers, and anyone who may remotely resemble them. I need to let them know how fucking dangerous their shitty driving is and how much they pissed me off with that one goddamn move. They need to hear it, and who better from than me?  Setting the world straight, one driver at a time. You're welcome.
Not only does cursing make your point quickly and more effectively, but those words have more flow when spoken than the alternatives people try to use in their place. Tell me I'm not alone in this opinion, but screaming "Goddamn it!!!" at the top of your lungs feels and sounds better than replacing it with "Goshdarn it!" when you jam your toe into the solid wooden chair so hard you are certain it shattered on impact. "Cheese and Crackers" may be church-friendly, but "Jesus Fucking Christ" sets the tone a little better. While the word anus is anatomically correct, in order to maintain clarity, you should call someone an asshole so they know you are serious. Breasts are something you cut off a whole chicken and bake in the oven. What I keep inside my Victoria's Secret bra are tits. Defecation is a bodily function, but when someone cuts you off on the freeway, they are a fucking piece of shit. Are you following along here?

Impossible to teach you a lifetime of colorful vocabulary, I can't just give you a list to memorize to be tested on at a later date.  No, you have to get out there into the world, put on your big girl panties, and say what you really feel. Nobody wants to hear you tell them to shut the front door, when you actually want them to shut the fuck up. If your friend reamed you a brand new asshole for not texting her back as quickly as she would have preferred, don't tell me she got really angry. She didn't, she ripped you a new ass. See how much more descriptive my way can be if only you'd embrace your inner bad ass? Let's boycott all this Pollyanna-ish talk and start using the words we really want to, the ones that make our stance on any given topic clear to all listening. Who gives a ripe fuck what some tight ass thinks of us when we express ourselves in the manner we desire? Do you think I care?  Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Let's talk about sex...

Oh my fucking God, she went THERE! I figured now that the election is over, and praise Jesus, Obama is still our Commander in Chief, we could move on to more interesting topics. Like sex. Come on, we all think about it. Many of us talk about it. And most of us do it. Those of you who don't, I'm sorry, use more deodorant. Actually, I cannot think of a reason why someone would opt out of something so normal and natural. Like those born-again virgins you hear about, what the fuck is that?  Some decide that they've been such gigantic whores up till now that they feel they should have a fresh start. Uh, what's done is done, you can't un-fuck someone.
Oh, but wait, they have surgical procedures that can, ahem, re-virginize you. I'm serious, it's called hymenorraphy, and you can have one if you want to restore your hymen to a virginal state. Realizing that the hymen has an opening to begin with and can be torn by things other than having sex, should dissuade you from spending time, money, and having surgery to "correct" something that can't truly be corrected. I know there are cultures out there that still value virginal status and take it very seriously. Many of these women will resort to this procedure to help their marriageability and prevent them from being stoned or whatever Dark Age-torture their ridiculous, behind the times culture requires when they discover you aren't pure. Bring on the double-standards!!!
Moronic double-standards aside, we need to look at the reason there is a push towards abstinence. Since when did that become better for you? There are those who believe that sex clouds clear-thinking and the ability to focus. Sounds to me like someone not getting any in the first place. If you are one of those people who have become so addicted that you are yanking your own crank all day and it is now interfering with work and your family life, then yes, you do need to take it down a notch.  At that point, it IS clouding your ability to do much of anything.  I've heard folks say that it frees up their schedule for other things. Like what, the fucking Peace Corps? And before this ah-ha moment you were having sex, what, 15-20 times per day? How the hell can cutting out something that may take the lesser part of an hour, free you up to do anything productive? Unless you are doing it all day, every day, I imagine you still have time to take up a hobby, join a club, socialize, learn a language...whatever the hell it is you feel you may be missing out by having sex.
We can't forget the alternative-lifestyles, now can we? I love that terminology, alternative lifestyle.  Alternative to what? Can't something just be what it is without requiring a PC title to make people outside the loop more comfortable with talking about it? A cigar is just a cigar, and a fetishist is just a fetishist. Yes, fetishes exist, and they are just as natural as breathing or having sex in the missionary position, but not quite as vanilla. Stop shaking your head and gasping like someone ripped a fart in church. Who are you to judge what makes another person happy?  If they aren't hurting you or someone you love, shut your flap. It's none of your business or mine what goes on behind closed doors and involves consenting adults.

Yet, so many people are absolutely baffled by, freaked out about, disgusted regarding, however you want to put it, those who enjoy different sexual outlets.  Nobody is saying YOU have to participate, just accept that there are vast differences between your bedroom habits and theirs, then move on. Most fetishes are completely harmless, yet because you don't engage in them, they are god-awful, should be banned, are sinful, make you vomit in your mouth. How fucking repressed are you? If someone wants to be pissed on, and they have found a person who likes to piss on people, who am I to tell them they can't do it? There's no danger in that particular activity, why does it frighten you so? The fact that you sit around eating bon bons all day long is more repulsive and far more physically dangerous than a golden shower could ever be. Think about it.
If a guy who is powerful by day wants to be tied up and whipped by night, can you begrudge him the release he feels with each lash? Since you aren't in his shoes, you don't get it.  He doesn't expect you to, but he would appreciate it if you'd keep your negative opinions to yourself. He isn't in any danger, haven't you ever heard of a safe word?  I know you ladies have read at least book one in the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy. You know exactly what I am talking about...it excited you, admit it. Being the one in charge, calling the shots...pretty hot, right?  For those of you ignorant about these types of things, the submissive is actually the one with all the power.  That is DEFINITELY another topic, and I have neither the time nor the patience this evening to delve into that world, not that I don't have a soft spot in my heart for it.

Those of you who have a touch or more of homophobia, or worse actually hate gays, make me want to take a potato peeler to your body and just when I've stripped off as much skin as I deem necessary, drop your fucktarded asses into a vat of lemon juice. That's hate. You have absolutely no reason whatsoever to hate someone based upon their sexual orientation.  Notice I didn't say preference?  Why is that?  Just like you didn't make a conscious choice to be straight, gays don't wake up one morning and say, "Today's a great day to be homosexual!" Why would they make a choice to be someone who is subject to hate, prejudice, and violence? As I've stated, what goes on behind closed doors doesn't affect you, keep your ugly inside...it's already starting to show on the outside.
Talking about sex, sharing, joking around, it's all perfectly normal.  Locker room talk takes place among both men AND women, and it should. The more something becomes mainstreamed, the less taboo is carries and we can start to enjoy life and love as it should be enjoyed. The U.S. is incredibly repressed sexually as a nation and could learn a lesson or two from the good folks across the pond. I'm not saying we need to make all beaches topless, I don't want to see the long, flapjack titties that most women over 40 who have children are toting around on their chests. What I'd like to see, is the human body respected and appreciated in all its forms, shapes, and sizes.  Everyone has the potential to be sexy and sensual, and should be allowed to feel that way.

We need to stop demonizing sexual practices that extend beyond the standard man/woman boot knocking. I've said this in a previous entry, if a man wants to worship your feet, and you are comfortable enough with your body to allow it, let him work those toes into a lather. Don't stand there with your arms folded across your chest glaring at the person who just came out of the local "intimate" shop with a bagful of handcuffs and whips. She has as much of a right to enjoy her sexuality as you do, with one difference. She isn't afraid to express herself fully, you are. Get over your own fears, lose your prejudices, stick your negativity up your fat ass, and try to grow the fuck up. It's 2012, not 1901. Like George Michael said, "Sex is natural, sex is good.  Not everybody does it, but everybody should." Do I think I've reached half of you? Do I believe you'll open your mind just a wee bit more? Are you friggin kidding me right now???