Holidays in your 20s verse holidays in your 30s.

Today is Halloween and also the first year I didn't dress up.  I strategically scheduled a mini vacation last weekend to avoid having to create a costume that is both original and just the right amount of slutty for my age. I mean, I am not 21 anymore, but I am still a woman who needs to let her inner skank out at least one night a year before it blows up on a girl's trip to Cabo...

Going the funny route is also a viable option, but I am far too tired to even attempt to think of anything clever let alone try to make it myself.  I thought about how I used to get so excited for Halloween and how I would spend weeks (if not months perfecting my costume).  The past few years I have recycled the only costume I own that someone managed to not get trashed, with the exception of this year, in which I did even less. 

I couldn't even manage to put on a pair of dollar store cat ears.

I really used to look forward to all major holidays as well, but as I have gotten older, things have changed dramatically. Mostly, I no longer need an excuse to eat or drink...

Let's start with February which harbors Valentine's Day, a day where you get showered with gifts from your loved one for merely existing. Remember being in your 20s and looking forward to all the hearts filled with chocolate and sparkly pieces of jewelry?  Being in your 30s and realizing all that chocolate will make your ass fat and that crappy necklace from the mall kiosk is not in fact a diamond ring is somehow not as fun. 

St. Patrick's Day used to be an all day drinking extravaganza beginning earlier than you currently leave for work. You even spent hours at the party store picking out the perfect amount of flare. Now-a-days  drinking a Guinness on your couch in your underwear trumps going to a crowded bar (filled with children) which reeks of vomit.  Even if your college buddies manage to drag you out, you will pull a Houdini and be asleep by the time they get kicked out of their very first bar.

Easter was once a fun day filled with baking cupcakes and decorating eggs with your roommates before going home to visit the family you so desperately missed. As you have got older, Easter means your siblings' screaming children and searching the yard for rotting chucks of egg said children left behind. If you are extra lucky, your mom will repeatedly ask you why you don't have any of your own.

The Fourth of July was always fun involving BBQs and lighting shit on fire, but since "The great firework fiasco of 2006," no one wants to come in contact with anything other than sparklers. Getting older means learning that it's all fun and games until someone loses a finger.

Thanksgiving was once two holidays: the actual food fest, and the night before.  Over the past few years you have come to realize that getting hammered on Black Wednesday only interferes with your full schedule of eating, napping, and repeating the next day.  I for one can't compromise my stomach for the eating Olympics.

Let's be honest, Christmas was once the greatest day of your life.  All you had to do was show up to get showered with presents from relatives you forgot existed while your mom made you endless amounts of cookies and hot cocoa.  Fast forward to today where your Christmas list is a mile long, and all you want to do is spend all your cash on wine to survive all the family functions you are obligated to attend. 

Finally, there is New Year's.  Remember buying the tickets, ordering a limo, and finding the perfect dress?  A night with endless possibilities...which you have come to realize is just another effing night only on this particular one you get to spend three times as much to be annoyed and hung over. Also, don't forget to make your umpteen resolution you will literally break the following day.

Stop hitting yourself. Stop hitting yourself.

Today I went to a one-year-old's birthday party.  There was no alcohol.  I sat amongst a sea of new mothers Oohing and Awing over poofy pink dresses and princess crowns. I listened to numerous conversations about breastfeeding and Diaper Genies.  Did I mention there was no alcohol?

As I sat silently watching the chaos unfold all around me, a relative asked me if I wanted to hold her newborn. I quickly replied, "No thanks, I'm good," but judging by the look on her face, you would have thought I announced my devotion to Satan. Several other people also seemed horrified by my response. I guess telling a room full of new mothers that you aren't really interested in the one thing that consumes their entire life doesn't get you picked first in gym class.

I didn't see the big deal. If she was already over holding her own baby why I was supposed to be ecstatic about her passing it off on me? What was so horrible about not wanting to hold what had been spitting up on everyone for the last hour? I'm sorry, but I just didn't see the appeal of ruining my new sweater, and I definitely didn't think it was fair that I was being treated like a red headed step child for feeling this way.

The entire roomful of women seemed befuddled by the fact that, I didn't have baby fever. Maybe I was sick that day in health class when they explained since if you possess a vagina you must have an insatiable desire to reproduce. I wonder how the women would have felt if I told them my ovaries shriveled up and died the very moment their child threw a shit fit of Veruca Salt proportions over having to wear pants. 

I'm not saying I hate children or that I may never warm up to the idea of having kids. After all, if my thoughts or opinions never changed I would still think Silverchair was the greatest band of all time. However, I can definitely confirm that at this point in my life I prefer having clean clothes and nice things.  I like to stay up late, sleep in, and nap. I enjoy taking long showers and using the bathroom without an audience. Plus, most nights I am too tired to cook myself dinner so unless a newborn wants to eat cold Chinese take out directly out of the box because I'm too lazy to empty the dishwasher, I just don't see a current situation working out.

I know I am not the only person who feels this way. I have lots of friends who have actively chosen to not have kids who are constantly being hounded about their decision. People need to remember that it is not easy, and it is not for everyone. Even my friends who have willingly dedicated themselves to parenthood still need to keep their liquor cabinets fully stocked. 

Next time you are about to give your childless friends a speech on the joys of motherhood, remember the same way you don't care for cats, some people don't care for children. Both are selfish assholes who will ruin everything you love. If you own either, you will adore them and find everything they do adorable regardless, but try to understand not everyone wants to test that theory.

If you can't even keep a plant alive, don't feel one ounce of remorse about deciding not to have children. If kids simply aren't your thing, don't have them because you feel obligated. Every person who will not be getting robbed or murdered in 18 years will thank you.

You are an asshole.

If you are a "DJ" who has never touched an actual record, you are an asshole.

If you wear Skechers, you are an asshole, and you are "shaping up"to be alone for the rest of your life.

If you have ever 100% successfully made anything on Pinterest, you are an asshole, and why can't just one of my projects, receipts, hair styles, ANYTHING look like the picture?!

How to not die alone.

Recently I was having a conversation with a 30 year old male friend of mine about why he was still single. He was distraught that he simply couldn't find a nice girl and settle down. By all means, he should have a girlfriend. He is thoughtful, funny, intelligent, and good looking. 

I found it hard to imagine it would be difficult for him to meet a woman, until he described to me what he is looking for exactly. Pull up a chair because this could take awhile... 

Ideally he wants to meet a 23 year old (or younger), Mila Kunis look alike who is short (5'4" or smaller), weighs around 115 lbs, and is a non-smoking, vegan, yoga instructor. She has to be a "bit of a train wreck" meaning she has to have some sort of past issue he can help her through, but not baggage so severe he can't fix her. She also needs to have several tattoos, look hot both with and without make up, never age, and have a wardrobe consisting of mostly lace and knee high socks. She must make him laugh, not mind that he has a young son, have zero pre-existing medial conditions, and think that diamonds are stupid/not want one. She must also swallow and have beer flavored nipples.

I may have added in that last part, but I figured if you are training to go to the Olympics, you might as well go for the gold...

Let's pretend this celebrity look-a-like spinner type actually does exist physically (and by some miracle is single)...she still needs to fit the rest of his mental requirements and not like bacon (!!!!). In his mind, this was not too much to ask. Why should he "settle for anything less" than he was looking for?  

"But what about meeting a '7' who becomes a '10' in your eyes once you get to know them?" I begged, I pleaded.  He simply told me that was not how his brain operates, and he needs to find the whole package right off the bat.

It was that moment I realized my dear friend was going to die alone...and to be honest he probably deserves it. Shit, I will personally buy him a plethora of cats.

Sure, when we were all younger, my friends and I all made big plans to marry handsome, athletic, intelligent, hilarious, doctors with eyes as blue as the sky and the bodies of Greek Gods.  Nowadays, most of my friends should aim to find a guy without a drinking problem who owns a car...or a motorcycle. A bike. A bus pass? 

If you are a fully grown woman who is still expecting to meet Dr. McDreamy, then you might as well start covering your fridge in Kathy comics because the only men you are going to be intimate with are Ben and Jerry. Guys, if you don't want to end up with one really strong arm living in an apartment furnished with red leather couches, you need to lower your standards. 

Everyone you will meet has some kind of issue. If you can find someone whose imperfections or level of crazy coincides with your own, then you have hit the jack pot.  Basically, aim to find a person who loves your rendition of "Born this way" in the shower every morning and call it a day. 

Stop going for only "10s" because beauty fades, and eventually we will all look like shit. Usually the more attractive you are, the harder you will fall anyway. Just think of some of those people from your past who now look like they ate their former selves. I know personally, if I had married for looks, I would now be staring at a balding, overweight, used car salesman who once had abs that just wouldn't quit. 

Give it up. The idea of "perfect" does not exist. It will never exist.  Even the idea of perfection fades.  After all, I bet even Mila Kunis farts in her sleep.

Fuck exercise.

Every now and then I will notice something we all inevitably deny until the last minute possible...my pants are getting tighter. You can only blame the dryer (for shrinking them) for so long before you have to face the facts...the vodka/cheeseburger/cupcake diet is not working in the way you had hoped.

It's time to eat a bit better and work out occasionally because let's be honest...it's not that you want to try hard enough to lose any significant amount of weight but more so you don't have to buy pants with a larger number than before.

I have been so busy lately with work (and my new found Breaking Bad addiction) that I just don't have the energy to hit the gym for hours every night. Although, even if I was a Real Housewife of Trophyville who didn't have to work, I would still hate exercising.  I will however force myself to do it, usually crying the entire way through, but I would pretty much prefer to be doing anything else.

I am so exhausted and dreading any physical activity, I started to ponder all the things that currently sound more appealing than working out.

Instead of hitting the gym I would rather...

Eat.

Drink.

Sleep.

Die...but only if I get to be reincarnated as a Victoria's Secret Model.

Lose my wallet and make a Saturday of visiting the Bank, DMV, and Social Security Office...maybe Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I don't know. I don't know if I'll have enough time.

Go shoe/dress shopping...for your Chihuahua, Shit Zu, or any other "dog" you carry in a purse.

Start a Monopoly tournament and end up three days later with a meth addiction on Baltic Avenue.

Spend the day with my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend engagement ring shopping.

Step on all of the Legos.

Visit the eye doctor, dentist, and gyno simultaneously.

Be referred to as the "Ugly Kardashian."

Attend your daughter's ballet recital, son's little league game, and both of their gluten/alcohol free birthday parties.

I would also rather watch your birthing video. No seriously, bring on the placenta, and I'll bring the buttery, delicious popcorn (just as long as we aren't burning it off after).

Stay tuned.

Hello friends, randoms, and stalkers. Sorry I have been missing but sometimes life gets in the way (and by life I mean I started watching Breaking Bad). I will be back to writing about sex, booze, and all the other ridiculous shit you love soon. See you next week suckers or this weekend if you're going to Riot Fest. Woooooo!

The Name Game

This past weekend was Labor Day so a bunch of us got together to eat our body weight in burgers and get white girl wasted. Later in the evening a friend and I were sharing stories and laughing about one of her ex boyfriends we refer to as "Buffalo Bill" because he was into really weird shit in the bedroom.  He had a bit of a sex dungeon in his apartment, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was going to bang you, kill you, and wear your skin afterword.

Unfortunately for him, he has now earned a nickname so solid, he might as well go to the DMV and have it legally changed.  He may have been born a "Joe," but he will die a "Bill," and there is nothing he can do to change it.  The poor bastard could cure cancer, and we would still joke about him having a Dexter kill room in the basement.

Men, consider this a cautionary tale...if you do weird shit in bed, we will tell our friends (and possibly strangers at a party) about it, and you will most likely go down in history with one of the following titles...

One of my best friends slept with a guy who tried to choke her out during sex. He nearly killed her and is now referenced as "The Boston Strangler."

In my mid 20s I dated a guy who said the filthiest shit in bed. When I met him he seemed so innocent, but over the next few months he got progressively dirtier earning him the nickname "Bob Saget." This deemed to be even more perfect when we discovered his best friend was Greek and rode a motorcycle.

A few years back a friend of mine was attempting to sleep with a hot mechanic. I say "attempting" since on more than one occasion he had too much to drink and couldn't get it/keep it up. Due to his love of Jameson and his collection of coveralls he will always be known as"Whiskey Dickies."

I had an ex boyfriend who asked if I would pee on him and/or he could pee on me. I was horrified, and he will forever be referred to "Coldplay," (since it was all Yellow...).

A friend from college was dating a dentist who she complained was very lazy in the sack so we would call him "Dr. Do-little." She married him, we still call him that, and she still wishes she kept her mouth shut.

Currently my friend is seeing a guy (who we are all positive) is gay…even though he doesn't want to admit it yet.  They haven’t slept together (shocker ), but he does give her lots of Eskimo kisses. We secretly refer to him as R. Kelly since he is clearly trapped in the closet.

I had a guy I briefly dated ask me to grow a full bush for him.  It didn't last long because we don't live in a 70s porno, so he only remains a memory. RIP "Disco Stu."