Saturday, September 7, 2013

The ABC's of Fuck

A. Abso-fucking-lutely

B. Bloody Fucker

C. ClusterFuck

D. DumbFuck

E. Eff that!

F. Fuck it!

G. Good Fucking God.

H. Holy Fuck!

I. Ignorant Fuck

J. Jesus Fuck!

K. Kick his Fucking ass!

L. Lame Fuck

M. Mind Fuck

N. No Fucking Way!

O. Oh Fuck, Fuck!

P. Pretty Fucking Stupid.

Q. Good Fucking Question.

R. Rude as Fuck.

S. Shut the Fuck up!

T. The Fuck?

U. UnFUCKINGbelievable

V. Very Fucking Interesting.

W. What the Fuck!?

X. I said eXtra Fucking cheese on my burrito!

Y. You Fucker!

Z. It's a Fucking Zoo in here. 

Friday, August 23, 2013

Reasons 40 Blows

As much as being in your 40's is liberating, there are still some things about being middle aged that suck a witch's tit. For example:

1. You start receiving AARP literature in the mail. And coupons for Dr. Scholl's insoles. And ads for nursing home insurance and reverse mortgages. True story.

2. Your body begins to fall apart just as your mind is ready to go all in. Dancing all night in Vegas? I think I have a bunion. Skydiving? Ow, my back!

3. You have to sit in the front row at a strip club to see any boobs instead of sitting discretely in the back corner.

4. Five words- "Those aren't gray hairs, asshole!"

5. Mammogram.

6. Prostate exam.

7. Colonosopy.

8. You hum along to elevator music because it is an instrumental version of Darling Nikki.

9. If you're a married woman you're a soccer mom, if you're single you're a cougar. #cantwin

10. You trade your nightstand beer and used condom from last night for anti-aging cream and ibuprofen. 

Monday, August 5, 2013

Reasons 40's Rule and 20's Drool II


At 20, you probably either dread the notion of having screaming poop machines because, after all, you only just recently learned to wipe your own ass. Or, you fantasize about having kids "someday" along with a perfectly chiseled spouse and cookie cutter house with a white picket fence.

At 40, you have probably made it through the rough first years of your kids lives- think shitty diapers and colic. And by 40 you have arrived at the coveted stage in their lives that was the sole purpose of having kids in the first place. #winebutler


At 20 you worry about them being too big or too small, finding the right bra, revealing too much or too little. Friends and dudes judge you solely on your rack, and if they're not up to snuff, then you're screwed. Or not.
At 40 your boobs become your best friend. By now they have reached full potential in size and have likely become curvaceous with age and after having kids. Though they might be a wee bit saggy, you have the option to use the all powerful push-up wonder bra to hoist them up or you have the pocketbook to get a boob job to put those puppies back into place. You're a full-fledged woman now and may have breast fed, so you're totally comfortable with the girls popping out from time to time "accidentally" and even use them to your advantage in housework bargaining scenarios with your partner. Extortion at its finest.                                                                                                                            

At 20, you try to be hip and trendy and listen to the genre du jour religiously. Whatever is in en vogue, you go all in listening to that and only that, until the next best thing comes along. Garage bands, grunge, electronica, alternative, cow-punk (google it)- whatever the "in crowd" is listening to, you're listening along enthusiastically until the honorary music guru of your group crowns the next "it sound."    

At 40, you know all the important precedent setting artists and jams, you know a bad remake when you hear it, and you know what you like and what you don't. So when some whipper snapper drives through your neighborhood blasting their techno-hip-hop-bump-remix-feat-blah-blah-bullshit, you can scream "fuck that noise and you kids get off my lawn."  Only 40 some-things have lived through the birth of arguably the most important music to date and experienced it firsthand. So not only can we look cool head bobbing to the Rolling Stones, Bob Marley, and The Ramones, and squealing when Jessie's Girl comes on, we can also rock the new shit like a motherfucker.

At 20, you say yes to everything. Yes to a date with that jack-off with body odor. Yes to planning your friend's dog's birthday party. Yes to going to the sports bar to watch the game with your boyfriend rather than to see the rom-com that just came out. Yes to Sunday dinner at decrepit Aunt Dorothy's house. Yes to your ex that you can still be friends and he can date your yoga instructor. Yes you'll be the room mom, party planner, cookie baker, craft fair organizer, PTA Treasurer. Yes. Yes. Yes! (And not how Sally had in mind, because at 20, you don't know who Sally is.)

At 40, you say no to everything. No. Just no. Fuck it, no. Even if you want to do it, the answer is still NO. No, I don't want to drive 20 minutes your way for a drink. No, you can't borrow my car to pick up your grandma at the airport. No, I don't want to go to your sorority reunion. No, I don't want to have sex tonight. No, I won't try on these clothes in the store- I'll buy them and try them on at home and return them if they don't work. We say NO first, ask questions later.


At 20, you worry about pleasing everyone. Your parents, friends, boyfriend or girlfriend, teachers, etc. Do you like this outfit? Yes, you look fantastic. You don't mind if I go out with the guys to watch the game do you? No, go have a good time baby. Would you like to come over and help me give my cat a coffee enema to help her Irritable Bowel Syndrome? Sure! Sounds like fun!

At 40, you begin to tell it like it is. Either you have no time for these games or your brain has just lost all of the creativity cells it once needed to sugar coat your responses. Instead of telling your spouse you want them to try this wonderful new pro-biotic to help with their stomach circumference because they're probably just backed up, you hand them a gym membership and a diet coke and say "Hit the bricks, dough boy."  If your friend has on too much bronzer, instead of telling her that her cheeks look pretty and flush, you say "What the fuck is wrong with your face? Are you interviewing for a position as a clown stripper?" When a girlfriend asks if those jeans make her butt look big, without hesitation, you say YES! Ain't nobody got time to pussyfoot around.

If you're over 40, you know it should be you're.
If you're 20, you probably didn't notice. 

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Reasons 40's Rule and 20's Drool

At 20, you probably shop for cute, lacy panties that are sexy and will be eye catching to a potential suitor. You may also ascribe to the notion that you must always have on pretty, clean panties in the event of a sudden horrific death. Which is stupid, because in the event of a horrific death, they'll just be shit stained anyway.

At 40, you relish the choices available and change your underwear style with your mood. You're less worried about being sexy and trendy at all times, because who the fuck sees your underwear while you're out in public anyway? Power to the granny panty, thong wearing, going commando crew in their 40's.  

At 20, alcohol is a legend you wish you could be a part of; full of mystery and intrigue. You'll drink anything you can sneak out of your parent's liquor cabinet or whatever beer you can get the local jock named Bubba to buy you from the bait and tackle store. You cannot wait to turn 21 and start living it up in nightclubs and drinking too much Two Fingers Tequila and throwing up all over the floor. True story.

At 40, you've gotten most of the stupid binge drinking out of your system and have a refined palate of likes and dislikes in your choice of booze. You may indulge in wine with corks from time to time rather than simply Boone's Farm or boxed Franzia. And you may even respond "Grey Goose" when the bartender asks if you have a preferred vodka for your cocktail rather than saying "whatever blinding rot gut house vodka you have is fine."


At 20, you strive to be popular or the cool hipster. You want to be surrounded by people who adore you and keep you constantly entertained, be the life of the party and be invited to the party in the first place.   

At 40, you don't have time for drama or the emotional vortex of exhausting friendships and you just want everyone to leave you the fuck alone. Including your partner and kids. Only a very select few will infiltrate your inner sanctum of madness. It may be a couple of old high school or college friends, or the other drunken mom from the soccer field. No matter who it is, you have that special gift of unagi with them and when someone says "get off my deck" you know with a quick sideways glance at one another you're both thinking "that's what she said."

2. SEX

At 20, you are either a naive novice just learning the ropes or the town slut who watches porn so you can be on top of (that's what she said) all the hot new moves to please your lovahs. Cowboy hats and stilettos? Why not. You make sure your glory hole and/or beans and franks are impeccably groomed in case an opportunity to get randy pops up. (Also what she said.)

At 40, you have sex on your own time and your own terms. When you want, where you want and wearing what you want. That doesn't mean you're an insatiable sex machine with no self control, only that it has become more about you and not your lover(s) expectations and being comfortable in your own skin. And when it's go time, it's go time. No need to fret about unshaven legs or the fact that you're wearing holey briefs. By now, your partner has become accustomed to the finer nuances of your appearance, or lack-thereof, and is ready to throw down the hammer when you are.      


At 20, you're broke, working paycheck to paycheck, and have a huge college debt hanging over your head. You eat Ramen noodles for lunch and dinner and you buy drugstore makeup brands like Lip Smacker and Wet-N-Wild.

At 40, you're broke, going through a nasty divorce, living on part of your ex's paycheck, have a huge income tax lien hanging over your head. You eat wherever the fuck you want and you buy Sephora makeup like Urban Decay or Two Faced using your ex's Amex, because that's what he is. Or, you know, you're just more financially secure because you worked your way up at your J.O.B.

At 40, we like to party like rock stars at home in our pajamas with expensive booze.