On the 1st day of Christmas:  Decide that THIS year, you’re going to have an easy-going Christmas season and will not over-do it.

On the 2^nd day of Christmas:  After talking to your partner, realize you’re going to have the craziest Christmas you’ve even endured as you try to fit two families, two visiting aunts, a baby shower, friends’ houses, a Stagg Bowl weekend and hanging Christmas lights all over the house into your holiday season.  Shit.

On the 3^rd day of Christmas: Wonder if you have enough laxatives to get through this holiday season.  Thank god that at least your respective families don’t seem to give a shit if you eat or not because that just means more food for the rest of them.

On the 4^th day of Christmas: Volunteer at the Light Up Downtown festivities in your city and then wonder how in the hell that happened  because your idea of a fun Thursday night is not freezing your ass off in a building lobby handing out candy canes to the community’s destitute and homeless, complete with the skank ass bitch screaming “GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY WAY” to her 3 year old toddler on the other side of the revolving door.  TWICE.  While a local high school choir was singing Silent Night.  Really.

On the 5^th day of Christmas: You’re kind of tired of the naked guys hanging ornaments, snowmen fucking each other, dildo Christmas light text messages you’re getting from people.

On the 6^th day of Christmas: Is it too late to go somewhere South and warm and away from everyone but a margarita for Christmas?

On the 7^th day of Christmas: Pass the local WalMart on your way home and thank God you don’t have to go to that place.  Hang your head in defeat when your partner comes home and asks to go to WalMart for some random thing he needs for some random purpose and WalMart is the only place that has it.  *sigh*  This is love.

On the 8^th day of Christmas: Try to explain the Christmas Day schedule one more time to your mother because she wants you all day long and seems to forget that you do actually live with someone else and you need to split the time evenly among your respective families.  Your mother doesn’t care, she wants her daughter home 24/7 this Christmas season.  Remind her you only live 7 minutes from her house. You’re ALWAYS home.

On the 9^th day of Christmas: Get suddenly sucked into a trip to Las Vegas for an Accounting seminar – because flying across the fucking country for a not-even-two-day-seminar during the holiday fucking season isn’t at all convenient.  Bastards.

On the 10^th day of Christmas: Finish all of your Christmas shopping – you rock!!!! 

On the 11^th day of Christmas: Remember that you still have to buy for two more people, and then have your mother drop off three Christmas ornaments she made for some friends of yours, people you already bought presents for, and then try to figure out if you can re-gift some of the already-purchased gifts.  Try to justify said re-gifting to your partner.  Do not laugh when he sends you: “ That would be fine.  Wait….maybe we should give them to Chris [his brother]…he has a family with kids…and kids love to read…but never have anywhere good to put their crap.  Nah…that’s a stupid idea too.  Oh! We could give them to the boyscouts and they could use them as tents!  You think that’s stupid too? Tough crowd.  Why don’t we just keep them for Isis [the cat].  She loves crap to lay in.  Perfect!  Merry Christmas cat!  Or how about we put all their names on it and just let em fight it out.”

On the 12^th day of Christmas: Make 6 different types of cookies for your partner.  Do this with love.  And 8 hours of your day.  And a terrible backache.  And five containers of fucking cookies for the 2 of you. Then tell him that next year, he’ll be lucky to get fucking cutouts.

On the 13^th day of Christmas: You’ve actually sent out all of your  Christmas cards.  Congratulate yourself with a bottle of your favorite Shiraz. Curse your sister’s friend’s cousin you met three years ago who sends you a card which requires  you to go out and buy a pack of 10 cards so you can reciprocate because you know at least one other random person will be sending you a card as well.

On the 14^th day of Christmas: Realize your cousin sent your parents a Christmas Card, but you received nothing.  What the fuck is that all about? You’re the one who talks to her and emails her all the time!

On the 15^th day of Christmas: It’s snowing.  Again.  Remind your partner that he agreed when he moved in to shovel the driveway because, according to him, it’s stupid to pay a guy to plow.  Remind him shoveling snow actually involves being outside and moving the snow off the driveway.

On the 16^th day of Christmas:  You’ve returned from your first Stagg Bowl in Virginia – barely.  Your body hurts, your head hurts, your ass hurts and you realize you’ve driven 14 hours, drank 72 beers and had a few shots of Tequila while dancing and singing the Pee Wee Herman song for 3 days.  You’re too old for this shit.

On the 17^th day of Christmas: Recall that it was around this time you were dating some crazy ass dude.  Look at your partner and thank God for him, then laugh as you hope that 2011 is a year when you DON’T have to pull out your own catheter because some nasty piece of shit gives you such a bad yeast infection and bladder infection from his toxic body fluids that your bladder shuts down. Refer to http://womenswit.net/2010/01/21/crazy-gabes-crazy-texts/ if you don’t believe me. LOL

On the 18^th day of Christmas: Get a text from your former neighbor, thanking you for the card and picture and ornament from your mother and asking when the wedding is.  Realize that this is the first of about 20 more times you’re going to be asked about wedding plans. Ugh.

On the 19^th day of Christmas: Talk to your boyfriend over the phone about stocking stuffers.  Inform him that no, if he wants something to go in your stocking, he has to bring it over Christmas Eve night because Christmas morning, your Mom doesn’t allow anyone near the stockings until it’s time to open them.  Calm your boyfriend down about bringing his childhood stocking that his mother made him over to your mother’s house and tell him to just tell his Mom to keep it and fill it and we’ll use a spare for your partner.  Remain speechless when your partner says “wow, so you guys have brought home enough random people that there are spare stockings?”  ……ahem….

On the 20^th day of Christmas: Laugh when your partner calls you about your Christmas Eve/Christmas Day/day after, after after, after after after schedules.  Tell him that you’ll go over the calendar tonight because you have already had to put hourly appointments in your google calendar to keep all this shit straight.  When he asks about dinner, tell him the Chipotle across from our neighborhood is now open – bon appétit.

On the 21^st day of Christmas:  Resist the urge to shoot yourself.

On the 22^nd day of Christmas: Realize you’ve barely listened to Christmas Carols this year – why? Because you got so fucking tired of Mariah Carey and her fucking “All I want for Christmas” song last year that you’re STILL not over it!

On the 23^rd day of Christmas: Realize you have to go Church tomorrow which means dressing up which you never do over the holidays and spend an evening putting on every piece of clothing you own to come up with a conservative yet not frumpy outfit to wear to church with your partner who is 9 years younger than you and will be introducing you to every person he’s every known at church.  Take solace in the fact that he’ll be as miserable as you because he never sees these people anyways, it’s all for his mother.

On the 24^th day of Christmas: Christmas Eve! Time to relax! Except your sister and brother-in-law and nephew are in town so you need to spend time with them, hang your stockings with care at your parents’ house, get out of there before your Aunt shows up, go to Christmas Mass (ugh) with the future in-law’s and that whole family, try not to spontaneously combust as you enter church, hang with them for a bit after, hit your best friend’s family’s house and then go home with the intent to make love on Christmas Eve and fall asleep watching NCIS on the DVR.

On the 25^th day of Christmas: Rise and shine and get your ass up at 7 because you have to be at your Mom and Dad’s by 7:30 for breakfast and stockings, then leave for his grandparents’ house by 10:30 then head back to your parents’ house by 3:30 and then go to some friends’ by 8:30 or so.  By then you won’t even know what your name is, let alone which house you’re at.

On the 1^st day after Christmas: You get some time to yourself – for a minute, before your Aunt comes into town and you and the women of the family stay home to babysit your 1 year old nephew while the Father/Son/Son-in-law luncheon occurs.  Laugh as you send off your partner to endure a meal with Papa Bear and his “what are your intentions” questions.  Stop laughing when all the women start asking you about wedding plans.

On the 2^nd day after Christmas: You were going to take time off work but given all the family obligations, you’re contemplating going into the office just for some peace and quiet.

On the 3^rd day after Christmas: I don’t even know what day it is right now.

On the 4^th day after Christmas:  Baby shower luncheon for your youngest sister – reconnect with old family friends, endure “so when’s the next wedding? Are you planning on kids? How much younger is he again?” questions.  Text your partner that eloping is a great idea. Like tomorrow.

On the 5^th day after Christmas: What day is it? Because you sure don’t fucking know.  All you know is that you have a class starting in like 2 days that you aren’t prepared for and that means year-end bullshit is just around the corner.  You don’t know where the last year went but you’re pretty sure a lot of it went down the toilet.

On the 6^th day after Christmas: It’s New Year’s Eve.  You and your partner, having not had a day to yourselves in two weeks, are spending the night at home to ring in a special new year by yourselves.  You fall asleep on the couch at 10:30 pm after asking, again, why they allow Dick Clark to stay on as a co-host of the NYC festivities because it’s really just depressing anymore.

On the 7^th day after Christmas:  It’s New Year’s Day.  You require pigs in the blanket. You have two mothers who are making them and must hit two houses because your mother makes black eyed peas, another good luck prerequisite for a New Year, and your partner’s family wants to see you too.  Not to mention friends who want to watch football with you.  Remind yourself that you’re lucky to be so loved as you pop some more ibuprofen.

On the 8^th day after Christmas:  Turn off your cell phone and pretend that the world has imploded because if you don’t get one fucking day of peace to yourself, complete with a bottle of wine and a hot bubble bath before the clusterfuck SNAFU hell of year-end hits, you may end up shooting someone. Twice.

I started teaching online. As such, I have a rant and I think it’s justified, warranted and sadly true. Most of the population of American students is comprised of lazy dumbasses. Sorry, but it’s true. My sister is an elementary school teacher in New Jersey. I am teaching accounting online (I’ve taught in years past in the traditional setting as well). Between the two of us, we agree – students these days, regardless of (1) socio-economic background (2) subject (3) age or (4) geographic location feel entitled and don’t think they should have to work too hard to earn their grades.

 If a student fails a course, it reflects poorly on the teacher – never mind that the student can’t manage to turn one assignment in on time, do the reading, do some research, NOT blatantly plagiarize or participate in a discussion. They should still get an A, right? Fuck that. Guess what people – if you’re in school, you earn your grade. If you earn an F – what did you do, or not do, to earn that letter? Rarely can you put all the blame on the instructor. There are tutors. Learning Centers. Accommodations made for Special Needs.

What all do you need us to do to try to get you guys to absorb the knowledge? We walk you through examples; we repeat the key phrases/definitions at least three times each lecture – just because your learning curve is flatter than Cameron Diaz’s chest doesn’t mean that’s my problem! Let’s back up a second. I have invested almost 9 years into my secondary education. I have earned my BA in Business Economics, my MS in Accounting and my MBA. I’ve done it traditionally (“brick and mortar” school) and non-traditionally (online). I have worked full-time through most of those 9 years. I have had a household to run and manage and family obligations to fulfill. Sound familiar? Shove your excuses!

It’s amazing to me that there could be so many deaths in such a short time frame. And isn’t it funny how the flu/pneumonia/bronchitis is taking its toll on the class – which never meets face-to-face? Not to mention the sick mothers, new handicaps, computer viruses and motherboard-crashes that have occurred across the nation in the last few weeks? The demands of family, the six kids you’re raising (didn’t you ever hear of birth control?), the job hours (you’re going to school online for flexibility because of those job hours), blah blah blah.

How about this? Rather than come up with some creative excuse, why not be honest? “I won’t be turning in my assignment on time because (1) I’m lazy and haven’t started it yet (2) I haven’t paid attention all session and don’t even know what’s due yet (3) I feel like getting trashed, not turning in my homework (4) I got too busy sucking my boyfriend’s dick to finish the homework (5) I’m a drug-dealer and the homework got in the way of my dealing.”

 Seriously folks – if you or your kids are in school – great. But how about the American student population, from grade school through graduate school, try a new concept called ACCOUNTABILITY. YOU are responsible for your performance. YOU are responsible for your grades. YOU actually have to EARN the degree you are persuing. There are no gimmee’s in life – what the hell makes you think you should get one in school??

 Prof A

1. People who say “can i borrow a kleenex?”  Please keep it – I’m not going to want it back after you snot in it.  That goes for a piece of gum, too.

2. People who put leashes on their kids – if you’re going to put a leash on them, could at least complete the dog transformation and give them a muzzle too?

3. People who claim to be devout Christians – and then motherf*%k you up and down.

4. People who feel bad for Tiger Woods.

5. People who “the grass isn’t always greener…” – it may not be greener, but at least your annoying ass isn’t on the other side.

6. Stupid People.  I really just hate stupid people.

7. Born-again virgins.  You lost your cherry – you can’t grow it back – so if you’ve done the deed (and got knocked up, Bristol Palin) – why become a born-again virgin?

8. People who “don’t smoke” until they are drinking and then mooch cigarettes off you all night.  If you’re going to drink, stop and buy your own damn cigarettes.

9. Girls who THINK they are cute and adorable and then when they have three drinks, they are passing out on the ground or hanging all over their husbands, ready to pass out.  How about you not suck down that bottle of vodka in 30 minutes and be able to carry on a conversation for a while that does NOT involve guido’s from Jersey Shore or the whores from the Kardashian show…

10.  Guys who are gay and won’t admit it.  There’s nothing wrong with being gay.  So just come out already.  Don’t hide it, be proud of it.  Stop acting like you’re looking for a girlfriend when, really, you’re gay. 

11.  Men with Napoleon complexes.  You’re short.  Get over it.  You don’t have to develop an ego the size of Texas to overcompensate.  We know you’re little. 

12.  People who insist upon giving advice incessantly – and thinking that they are ALWAYS right – when they have no basis for giving advice. Unless it’s advice on how to get evicted, how to NOT marry your baby’s Mama, how to lose your job repeatedly or how to dress like a ghetto hood rat, you should probably keep your mouth shut.  Unless you’re advising other ghetto hood rats and then preach away. (I’d have put in a picture of Crazy Gabe but I’d rather not immortalize him on my blog LOL picture Dr. Phil but shorter, darker and crazy jerry curl with a major receding hairline LOL)

13.  Fat bitches who wear clothes that are two sizes too small.  I’ve said it before – I’m not a little girl, but I don’t try to show off every roll either.  Just because it comes in “your size” doesn’t mean you should buy it, honey.

14.  People who cheat and try to say there’s nothing going on.  We all know there’s something going on, we truly don’t give a shit, and we think it makes you look like an ass when you try to deny it.

“One may walk over the highest mountain one step at a time.” – Barbara Walters…..”except for the damn pebble in your shoe. It gets you every time” – CB

“There’s nothing like staying at home for real comfort.” – Jane Austen….”At least when you’re at home, you don’t have to use Clarity – THAT’S real comfort.” – SJ

“Just saying “NO” prevents teenage pregnancy the way “have a nice day” cures chronic depression.” – Faye Wattleton

“Do not neglect gratitude.  Say “thank you.” Better still, say it in writing.” – Princess Jackson-Smith….”Dear Clarity, Thank you, Sir, May I have another? Love, SJ & CB” – CB

“Talk happiness.  The world is sad enough without your woe. No path is wholly rough.” - Ella Wheeler Wilcox…”Unless it’s the path to BCD.” – CB

“Don’t hold grudges.  It’s pointless.” – Liz Smith…”Unless it’s Clarity. Clarity is pointless & therefore deserves our grudges. We’ve earned it.” – CB

“Saying ‘thank you’ creates love.” – Daphne Rose Kingma…”so does saying, ‘Fuck me.’ – CB

“Listening is a magnetic and strange thing, a creative force.  When we really listen to people there is an alternating current, and this recharges us so that we never get tired of each other. We are constantly being recreated.” – Brenda Ueland….”too bad men can’t listen with their dicks since they already think with them!” – CB

“You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm.” Sidonei-Gabrielle Colette…”unless you’re installing Clarity – then just pray for death.” – SJ

”People who drink to drown their sorrow should be told that sorrow knows how to swim” – Ann Landers…”What a buzz kill!” – CB

“You don’t get to choose how you’re going to die. Or when. You can only decide how you’re going to live. Now.” – Joan Baez….””I choose life – without Clarity.” – CB

“I came out of the womb a diva. All it means is that you know your worth as a woman.” – Cindi Lauper…”but I thought Girls Just Wanna Have Fun?” – CB

“I don’t believe in failure. It is not failure if you enjoy the process.” – Oprah Winfrey…”If you don’t enjoy the process, you’re just fucked.” – SJ

“Sometimes when we are generous in small, barely detectable ways it can change someone’s life forever.” – Margaret Cho…”Thank you Mother Teresa.” – CB

“One of the most rewarding and beautiful moments of a friendship happens in the unforeseen open spaces between planned activities. It is important that you allow these spaces to exist.” – Christine Leefeldt….”They also happen over a pitcher of margaritas.” – SJ

“Touch the lightbulbs in your house with a scent and watch your rooms turn into a garden.” – Estee Lauder…”Clarity smells like shit.” – CB

“Being powerful is like being like a lady.  If you have to tell people you are, you aren’t.” – Margaret Thatcher…”Why don’t I just wear a shirt that says ‘I don’t have a penis’?” – CB

“See into life – don’t just look at it.” – Anne Baxter…”See life through your margarita glass and you’ll enjoy and appreciate it more.” – SJ

“Vitality! That’s the pursuit of life, isn’t it?” – Katharine Hepburn…”so is Captain….” – CB

“I consider sex a misdemeanor – the more I miss, de meaner I get.” – Mae West

“A man can sleep around, no questions asked, but if a woman makes nineteen or twenty mistakes she’s a tramp.” – Joan Rivers

“It’s the good girls who keep diaries; the bad girls never have the time.” – Tallulah Bankhead

“The key to change….is to let go of fear.” – Rosanne Cash…”The key to change…is to count it twice.” – CB

“Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.” – Virginia Woolf…”I go to the bottle.” – CB

“We have reason to believe that man first walked upright to free his hands for masturbation.” – Lily Tomlin

When you first start dating someone, you are on your best behavior. No burping, no farting, no picking your nose, peeing only when the door is shut and absolutely no pooping within each other’s vicinity.  You get undressed and dressed in the dark.

After you’ve been seeing each other for a couple weeks, the guy is ok to fart in the woman’s presence and he’s probably burping too.  He’s still going outside or upstairs or downstairs or around the corner to fart if it’s really stinky.  Pooping is still not done within each other’s vicinity. You’ve now had sex with a lamp on in the bedroom but that’s it.  You may love fucking but you’re still not sure you’re both sold on the other one’s body. You do not have sex without brushing your teeth and using scope.

After you’ve been dating for a month, you now enjoy the race of “who pooh’s first” after going to breakfast and the woman is now having the occasional belch. She’s still not farting in his presence.  You can pee with the door cracked open but neither of you has actually witnessed the other in the act upon the throne. You’ve now fucked on the couch in the glow of the TV. You still try to brush your teeth every night but Scope is doing a decent job. You do not kiss in the morning until teeth have been properly scrubbed. He is now proud of his stinky farts and may or may not give you a warning before you walk into the wall of fart.

After two months of dating, you’re finally giving blowjobs on the couch in the light of day and fucking in the daylight. Actually, you’re fucking anywhere and anywhere because you’ve become addicted to each other.  It no longer matters when the last time either of you showered or if you brushed your teeth – what matters is dick inserted into vagina.

After three months of dating, you now have belching contests. You impress his friends with your musical burping talent.  You also astound them with tales of how you shit four times a day (they don’t think girls really pooped until  you told them you do).  You’ve now had to walk in on his pooh-time to give him another roll of toilet paper. He has witnessed you running into the bathroom as he’s cleaning up after sex because his cum is about to run down your legs. He has also now witnessed you inserting a tampon (best way to keep yourself plugged up after sex and still be able to go out – I don’t care who you are, peeing after sex does NOT get all of him out of all of you). He calls the string “the mouse.”

After four months of dating, kissable breath is a thing of the past.  Morning kisses are done regardless of status, although the casual “damn baby, it smells like a mouse crawled in and took a shit in your mouth” or “your breath smells like a dog’s ass” comment may be warranted and stated on occasion.  He’ll now pick his nose in front of you and say “Oh My God Babes – this booger’s purple!”  You’ll be torn between laughing and puking.

After six months of dating, he’s able to take a shit while you’re in the shower – in the same bathroom.  You’ve now farted on him during sex and he wasn’t completely repulsed – he did however laugh uncontrollably. You now having burping contests and you have witnessed him popping a zit in his pubic area…while in bed. You will manage to not pee yourself laughing as he jumps around disgusted and in pain.

After a year of dating, you can now walk into the bathroom while he’s on the shitter to start brushing your teeth.  When you’re in the grocery store, he will stop and say “Hey Honey – isn’t this your brand of tampons? They’re on sale – two for one!” and then realize he just ID’d your brand of white knights and wonder where his manhood went.

Ladies – you no longer have sweaters on….as such, when putting on your flimsy $2 bargain bin WalMart bra, you might want to open the freezer door and see if suddenly your nipples are hard enough to cut ice.  No one wants to see your hard nipples through your shirt with the exception of the man, or woman, currently fucking you. I don’t care what the celebrities are doing, I don’t care if there is such a thing as a nipple bra,

we really don’t want to see them.  So either invest in a couple bras with enough lining to keep those fuckers flat and warm or, well, invest in a fucking bra that will keep those fuckers flat and warm so the rest of us don’t have to look at you and imagine what it would be like to be breast fed from your cow nipples.

Dudes – cut off denim shorts went out of style approximately 15 to 20 years ago. I promise.  There is nothing sexy about a man showing off his long hair legs in a pair of stone-washed, torn, mid-thigh cut-off jean shorts. All it does is draw the eye up to your head to see if you have a mullet to match your style sense.

Ladies – since we all shed layers of clothing when it gets hotter, please do us all a service and try not to wear too much spandex.  In fact, if you weigh more than say 90 pounds you really have no business wearing spandex. 

We don’t want to see your camel-toe.

We don’t want to see your back fat and we definitely don’t want to see your jelly-belly rolls oozing out from under your spandex tank top and hanging out over your spandex capris.  The only thing that will be coming near you in that get up is the crackhead you probably live with.

Dudes – wearing a t-shirt where you ripped off the sleeves five years ago to use them as toilet paper in a port-a-shitter (true story) is soooooooo not hot.  In fact, a man in a sleeveless shirt is pretty much the most redneck thing in the world…next to the mullet and fucking your sister.  If the sleeves are missing, use it as a rag, not as a shirt. Because trust me, no one wants to be that close to the arm pit that hasn’t seen a bar of soap since y’all took your bath two Sundays ago with the soap on the rope. The only thing worse than your ragged sleeveless shirt is if, in your desperation to cover your beer gut and your lack of any other possible fucking piece of clothing, you create your own redneck tank top….out of a pair of underwear.

Ladies – pay attention to the length of your shorts…better yet, go with capris.  Because no matter how hot it is, unless you’re wading your chubby ass in your toddler’s 6” deep wading pool in the back yard near the pig pit, the rest of us don’t want to see you in short-shorts, counting the pockets of cellulite on your thighs. (Please note, she’s also violating the no showing us your belly-rolls rule as well).

Everyone needs to revisit the color wheel and figure out which colors match and complement each other and what is just totally clashing or just plain painful on the eyes.  First – stop wearing neon or superbright colors. NO ONE can pull those colors off.  We couldn’t do it in 1984, we sure as hell can’t do it now.  Second, I don’t care what the fashion magazines tell you, you should NOT wear white – white shorts, white pants, white shoes until AFTER Memorial Day.  If you don’t know the difference between summer white and winter white, then just don’t even wear white unless it’s a t-shirt. Also – just a hint – if you are going to the park, a picnic, mudding on your ATV or having your Aunt Flo for a visit, do NOT wear white at all. 

The stains that will follow you that you will be oblivious to because you are a moron will haunt our minds forever.  Finally, men and women alike, stop wearing your fucking camo’s out in public.  Nothing screams redneck like a cow or her moose-man in camo in WalMart in July….except maybe this camo wedding picture. Fucking rednecks. And you wonder why we all think you’re inbred.

Recall, my readers, my “If you want to date me” rules provided so lovingly by my shrink after my last long-term abusive chaotic warped mind-fucking relationship ended….

1. Be gainfully employed.
2. Have no criminal record or DUI(s)
3. Have a healthy, positive relationship with your family.
4. Have a college education
5. Pay your bills.
6. Not be abusive – verbally or physically.
7. Not have a drinking or drug problem.
8. Be supportive without being domineering, be loving and caring without being needy or suffocating.
9. Appreciate and encourage my career and interests.
10. Be great in bed.

I’ve been told by many men that “sometimes you just make mistakes” (DUI or criminal record). “The economy has really sucked, I just can’t find anything/make enough money” (be gainfully employed/pay your bills).  “I just can’t get close enough to you” (suffocating – as in glued to the side of my hip while sitting on the sofa or sleeping in bed).  Blah blah blah. Every excuse in the book for why they don’t meet all these criteria.  Do you want to know how many relationships of mine have worked with men who didn’t meet all of these criteria? Zip. Nada. Zero. Zilch.

But to all you naysayers who think my list is shit, I say every woman should use it as her bible.  Because when you find the guy who meets all of these criteria: Has a job and has always had a steady work history, is athletic but not manorexic, has a great sociable personality, no criminal record/DUI, have a great relationship with his parents and younger brothers, is college educated, pays his bills, is the most courteous and sweet man you’ve ever met, isn’t waking up at 3 p.m. every day to start his daily drunk, is not at all suffocating even when you’ve spent five of the last six evenings with him, admires your college education and career and is absolutely the best fuck you have ever had in your entire freaking life, is 6’4” and he’s only 27?? What??!  Screw the 8 year age gap and grab on with two hands – this is the guy for you!

Yes ladies, you can find him – it may take three years and random circumstances causing you to meet, but you will find that great guy and you will realize that he’s the reason you’ve held out and didn’t settle for the jerk who screwed you over all the time, or the guy who chewed his food like a girl or the guy who was completely psychotic.  And what’s more – as much as you like having your space and independence, it will not even dawn on you to say “No, I really need a night to myself” when he asks repeatedly to see you almost every night. Because you just can’t get enough of him.  You will want to see him as much as he wants to see you.  You will have a great balance of evenings alone with him as well as evenings out with all the gang.  And you’ll be really glad that he’s moving in with one of your best friends, a whopping two minutes from your house. And that he’s incredible in bed – did I mention that already?

            Arizona: it’s illegal to take naked photographs before noon on Sunday.

            Arkansas: anyone caught stealing soap must wash himself with it until it’s all used up.

            California: it is illegal to cry on the witness stand in L.A. courts.

            California: it is illegal to set a mousetrap without a hunting license.

            Colorado: a pet cat, if loose, must have a tail-light.

            Georgia: it’s illegal to fart at the state fair.

            Hawaii: it’s illegal to have pennies in your ears.

            Idaho: no frowning in public.

            Missouri: drunkenness is considered an “inalienable right.”

            New York: a $25 fine can be levied for flirting.

I think you get the picture.  Reviewing stupid-ass laws such as these makes me want to propose some of my own…

It should be illegal to use a public restroom and not wash your hands. You are wiping your cootch, holding your dick or wiping your ass – to not wash your hands is absolutely disgusting, you gross fuckers.

 It should be illegal to puke in a bar because you’ve had too much to drink.  Nothing makes everyone else NOT want to drink like the sweet odor of vomit.

 It should be illegal for women to wear spandex with granny panties. For that matter, all panty lines should be outlawed.

 It should be illegal for people to not wear adequate deodorant on a daily basis. That goes for showering daily, too.

 It should be illegal for people to leave pictures of their ex’s on their social networking pages.  We hated the cunt when you were dating her, we don’t want to keep seeing pictures of her when we visit your page.

 It should be illegal for men to wear more than two rings on their hands – and yes, that’s 2 rings for every 10 fingers. A man wearing seven rings had better be in a strapless beaded gown and stilletto’s because that’s just gay!

 It should be illegal for strippers who have lost at least 30 pounds to deny that they lost it do it coke.  We all know you’re cokeheads, it’s ok, Jesus loves you.

 It should be illegal for ugly people to procreate.

 It should be illegal for 45 year old women to dress like 25 year old women.  You look like idiots – stop doing it.

 It should be illegal for women to cut off their bangs.

 It should be illegal to have more cats in your home than human members of a household.

 It should be illegal for Notre Dame to lose a football game. Maybe that would keep that school from hiring jackass, weeble-wobble coaches like Charlie Weis and actually have a winning season. Damn Catholics.

 It should be illegal for a guy’s arms to get so bulked up that they won’t rest easily at their side. You just look weird, are not nearly as sexy as He-Man and it just gives me the heebie-jeebies.

 It should be illegal to have a unibrow.

 It should be illegal to be an annoying drunk. Because I never get annoying when I’m drunk – I get happy, pissed, cry, sing, dance, fight, talk about sex quite loudly and sleep with the wrong men, but I never get annoying when I’m drunk.

 Thank you – have a nice day. LOL

Dear John,

After serious contemplation, I have decided that continuing this relationship with you is really not in my best interest.  No, I am not concerned with what might be best for you because frankly, you never gave a shit if draining me financially was what was best for me.  I also don’t think you were too concerned about my age until you thought that you could get arrested for fucking me – maybe you should have thought about that before you, as a 24 year old, agreed to go to a 17 year old’s prom.  You didn’t seem to show too much concern when your cunt-ass ex-girlfriend egg’d my house – why would I care if I’m a sophomore dumping a senior?

Can you really blame me for getting tired of you collecting action figures and comic books? I think maybe the breaking point was when I bought you the new and improved Bat Cave. I realize, also, that sexual encounters involving a strap-on dildo for you requires a bit of preparation, but planning our sex sessions down to a T, determining when each position would be attempted, does get old after a few years.  It also would have been nice if you could have kept the leash for the dog and let me live my own life a little bit.  Rather than laying claim to my pussy, perhaps you could have sucked it up as a man and actually solidified a true relationship with me rather than the farce of one that we had during the course of our dating history.  Focusing more energy on making your promises a reality rather than stringing me along would have been great. 

While I appreciate the economics of living at home with your family rather than getting your own place, I can’t help but wonder how nice it would have been to have NOT had your younger sister, older sister and grandmother each walk in on us fucking at some point during our relationship. It’s sad, for some reason, that we got so used to it that you didn’t even get out of me when someone walked in – it was like we just hit the pause button and resumed as soon as they closed the door.  Honestly, looking back, I’ve never had so many people walk in on us having sex as I have while I was with you, because we also got walked in on by my mother, my father and I think a cop (if that was you). What the fuck?? 

Remember how our Saturdays, during football season, had to start with you playing that day’s game on the PlayStation and then the outcome of that (fake) game dictated your mood for the rest of the day until the real game came on, and then the tone for the rest of our weekend was determined by the outcome of the real game?  That got to be really fucking annoying.  Remember how you’d fight with me and throw my shit out of the house, onto the front porch, or perhaps to all four corners of the neighborhood? I never appreciated that. 

In fact, I pretty much never appreciated you destroying my property, denting my car, denting me, hurting my dog or acting like a complete and total jackass when you were drunk, disrespecting my family or cheating on me  – a lot.  I really didn’t like when you’d go out with me, fuck me, tell me how much you needed me and then turn around and go out with your girlfriend, either.  For that matter, not even having the balls to tell me you started dating the ugly duckling addicted to marshmallow peeps was pretty fucking lame too.  It really got on my nerves that you chew like a girl and your house is decorated like a dorm room and when I came over to spend the night, there was a mountain of dirty dishes in your sink and the contents of your refrigerator scared me. 

It also sorta scared me, and amazed me, that you masturbated one night and texted to tell me that you fucked yourself in the ass with a dildo at the same time…I’m all for prostate stimulation but Jesus – that’s a lot for one man to do to himself.  I have a lot of fun with you, but the fact that you seem to only text once every two weeks gets pretty annoying.  And in this day and age, where everyone, including my 68 year old father is on Facebook, and you are too, and yet you can’t add me as a friend – well, sorry, but that’s horseshit.  Because all that tells me, that while I’m good enough to fuck, I’m not quite good enough to make it public that you’re interested in me.   And if you do add me to Facebook, to post a comment that is absolutely ludicrous and inapplicable to the topic at hand, surrounding a conversation I’m having with one of my best friend’s husbands and my 20 year old cousin – well, that just tells me you’re an over-zealous prick who will NEVER meet my family.

And you know that cock picture you sent me? Next time, work on the angle because sending a cock pic where your cock looks like a small pickle instead of a cucumber really doesn’t send me over the edge…ok, it makes me giggle.  You know how you always told me to be patient, that you needed time, things just weren’t where you wanted them so we could be happy together, that there was too much going on for us to get serious, that if you had the choice, you’d be with me in a heart beat?  Guess what?  Sometimes you have to suck it up, remember you have a set of balls and just go after the one thing that makes you happy.  You don’t hurt it, you don’t hide it, you embrace it and run with it because it just might be the one thing that brings your whole life together.  You couldn’t do that, and I got tired of waiting.

So good luck, keep the psycho bullshit in your own corner, don’t blame me for keeping a cheesy ring to remind myself to never fall for another bullshit, crazy, loser, likes to listen to himself talk but can’t really listen to what anyone else has to say, insanely jealous, abusive, full of excuses, lying, cheating, son of a bitch.

Sincerely,

Me

 Give me a break.  We are not complicated creatures. Where you have an extra arm, we have an arm socket. Our chests droop more than yours. That’s just about it. I’ve dated men who are FAR more emotional than any chick could be.  Men will say that women are irrational, impossible to understand, start arguments for no reason, blah blah blah.  If men would just pause for a moment and think about the consequences of their actions, as women do, we could all get along a lot better.

 From the perspective of a 35 year old woman, we are not that complicated. Pause for a moment and think about what you, a man, want from a relationship.  You want to feel important. You want to be comforted if you’re having a bad day. You want sex on demand. You want to be loved and nurtured.  You want to feel like a man, not a boy.

 Ok – guess what?  We chicks want to feel important, be comforted if we have a bad day, we want sex on demand, we want to be loved and nurtured and we want to feel like a woman, not a little girl.  The disconnect in men’s heads is that they don’t understand the consequences of what they say or do. Men have a tendency to see, or remember, the big picture, while women see the details and indicators.  Men seem to take a lot of things for granted because they don’t seem important to him – the problem with that is that men tend to overlook or ignore certain things that are important to a woman. And would be important to him too if he were on the other side.

 After a typical night out, a man will remember that he got laid.  A woman will be counting the number of times he did, or did not, kiss her. 

 Upon meeting a man, a woman will want to add him to her list of Facebook friends – after all, 99% of the people who are important to her life are on her Facebook.  Plus, if you break up, you can always delete him.  Because that’s what you do when you break up with someone – you sever ties so you can move forward.

 At the end of a typical week, a man will inherently know that he got a blowjob that week. Because his woman takes care of his every need.  A woman will have to consult a calendar to determine the last time she got any oral play.

 A man will assume that in order to impress a woman, he needs to have a lot of money and spoil her.  A woman knows that in order to impress a man, she needs to shower him with attention, hugs, kisses and love. Money isn’t everything – love and companionship is what makes the perfect ending to a terrible day. Why do men think that we don’t want the same?

 A woman will text her guy and tell him that she hopes he has a good day and will text sporadically throughout the day to make sure he knows she’s thinking of him. Men will go anywhere from 8 hours to four days between texting a woman back, and then wonder why she doesn’t want to see him or has made other plans?  It’s called attention – we don’t want 300 texts in one day, but we do want to know that we’re a priority, not an after-thought when you get a hard-on.

 If you’re introducing a new woman into your life, it would be considered a great courtesy to delete the pictures of your ex from your social networking pages, phone and by all means, remove all evidence of the chick from your house.  I think if a man were to walk into a woman’s house and there were a framed photo of her with her ex in some laughing embrace, he’d get a smidge upset.  See “Breaking Up’s Not Hard To Do” post if you don’t completely understand how to break-up with someone. There is, in fact, certain protocol to be followed.

 It’s not hard to understand a woman, guys.  Think about how you would like to be treated and loved – we want the same shit.  You want to be able to shove your cock down our throats any minute of any day, we want to be the only woman you’re shoving your cock into.  I don’t think it’s that women are complicated or confusing, I think it’s that men just don’t stop and think about the consequences of their actions, or lack of actions.