Archives For Humor

Women Drivers SUCK

September 17, 2015 — 85 Comments
Dangerous Driving

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Look, lady in the parking lot,

I understand the frenzied pace of your suburban itinerary, as you hurtle from Nordstrom’s Anniversary sale to an anal bleaching appointment.

So why don’t you put down the cell phone, and use BOTH hands to wrangle your tricked-out Yukon XL Denali out of a tight parking spot? You forked over a lotta money to have motorized cup holders and tri-zone climate control. Why risk banging up your land yacht?

I’ve never EVER seen a man pull that move

I’m not saying there are no bad male drivers. But I’ve NEVER witnessed a man multitask at the wheel that hard. Women are famous for their extra car-ricular activities.

To be fair, I have seen men shave on their way to work. And I once saw a man in a fur collared overcoat brushing his teeth while negotiating the Belt Parkway. But this was Brooklyn, where proof that evolution can go in reverse lives strong.

I’m guilty of multitasking at the wheel, but only for the essentials. Finding a suitable playlist on Spotify, or downloading porn.

Women also get territorial over desirable parking spots. Men don’t circle over parking spots like vultures hovering over a desert carcass. Parking lots at upscale supermarkets in suburbia are treacherous. Put a gaggle of frenzied housewives in a crowded parking lot at dinner time and it becomes the gladiator amphitheatre at Pompeii.

 

Since I am a woman, it begs the question, does my driving suck? Well, let’s just say I’m an “aggressive” driver. Not in a hostile way. In a “slice through traffic because I have places to go” kind of way.

I always seem to get stuck behind these kind of people:

What a nice and sunny day, Martha, let’s drive super slow and listen to Enya.”

But Harold, this woman behind us seem like she’s obviously in a hurry. Shouldn’t we rather pull over and have some tea instead, so she can pass?

Oh, fuck YOU, Martha. I’m sick of your shit. Fuck your tea in its fucking face.”

 

I’ve gotten into more than my share of accidents. Not because I’m careless as much as distracted. I have gotten into accidents pulling out of my own driveway on three separate occasions. All because I forgot to open the garage door first. Oopsie.

I also have a tendency to side swipe the garage door jamb as I’m backing out and clip the passenger side rear view mirror. I’ve ripped that sucker off a few times. It has been suggested to me that I have some issues with my spatial sense.

Which is why I’m known as being “hard” on cars. I would never drive recklessly, particularly if my kid is in the car. But I’m not a baby about banging up against a curb while parking at a strip mall. I have things to do! Slurpees to buy! It’s just the front bumper of my car. It will survive.

 

I actually love to drive. I got my first car when I was 30,  which is also when I learned to drive. As a teenager, my first car was the bus.

Living in New York, there’s really very little need to own a car. My Ex got me my first car for Christmas when we were dating, so I could drive to his house in New Jersey. I went to driving school in the city, so I drive like a New Yorker. Which means I ignore lanes and cuss like an Armenian taxi driver.

I’m also a virtuoso parallel parker. That’s the only kind of parking that exists in Manhattan. Why do all the suburbanites get their dicks in a blender over parallel parking? How hard is it to:
1. Pull up next to the car in front of the spot.

2. Back up, aiming for the center of the spot.

3. Once your car is actually pointed at the center of the spot, straighten out.

It’s easy peezy, lemon squeezey. Why must Drivers Ed make a Wagnerian epic out of parallel parking, complete with those whore cones in some byzantine configuraion?

 

Perhaps women would get better at driving if they actually DROVE places. The majority of suburban women I know will drive locally, but that’s about it.

If I mention that I’m driving into the city with Little Dude for the day, women will ask me, “Alone?”

“No. I just said, I’m taking my kid.”  “But you’re driving YOURSELF? No MAN is driving you?”

 

What IS that? Is that some kind of learned helplessness? This whole phenomenon where women don’t want to drive long distances? It unnerves them if they have to drive over a bridge OMG and get on major highways.

Does having a labia prevent you from merging onto a highway?

I’ve driven long distances countless times. I can do the drive from New Jersey to Boston, which is where my BFF lives, with my eyes closed. As a matter of fact, I’ve driven it with my eyes closed.

Driving is freedom. I can throw my kid in the car, put on music, and go anywhere. I’ve done road trips as far as from New York to Florida. It’s unthinkable to me to depend on a Y chromosone to get places.

 

The idea that women drivers suck is not just a stereotype; or if it is, well, stereotypes exist for a reason, don’t they? It’s a globe trotting cliche. In South Korea, there are female – only parking spots, which are wider. They’re also outlined in pink and have a miniskirt logo.

 

People speculate constantly as to why men appear to be better drivers than women. One common belief is that men are better at focusing on a single task, while women are the better multi-taskers. although, not actually IN the car. There’s also the theory that men have a better spatial sense, which works for me and that ever widening smear of white garage paint on my front right bumper.

Personally, I think men are better drivers because they tend to enjoy the actual task of driving, whereas women just want to get to wherever they’re going. For men, it’s a journey. For women, it’s a destination.

In other words, it’s the opposite of how both genders feel about sex.

 

Do you think women drivers suck? How good of a driver are you?
Can you parallel park?
Are there any warrants for your arrest for unpaid traffic tickets?
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

Sax Maniac

June 4, 2015 — 93 Comments

sax

 

I attended Little Dude’s 5th grade band concert yesterday and it might have been the most brutal thing I’ve ever been forced to listen to.

Parents were falling all over themselves to video this debacle. I must be missing some maternal sensitivity chip because I don’t want a shred of evidence of this Cacophony of Horror.

Little Dude plays the sax, and I use the word “plays” lightly.

He’s dreadful. It’s like “Root Canal: The Musical.” I’ve heard him sing, and I thought he had a little bit of a musical ear, but that might be wishful thinking because I come from a musical family. Also, vodka.

 

Like the pushy Tiger Mom that I am, I drill music into my kid’s head. I want to make sure that he’s at least exposed to some of what I consider to be “the greats” before he rejects it for trendy, soulless dub step.

When we listen to music in the car,  I’m the Most Annoying Parent ever. I’m trying to train his ear. I pull apart the sounds, and have him zero in on certain instruments. As far as I’m concerned, it’s part of his education to fully appreciate the majestic guitar solo at the end of “Hotel California“.

When he was picking an instrument for band, I steered him towards sax. A few weeks ago, we were listening to Lenny Kravitz in the car. Little Dude actually stopped yammering about Minecraft during one of his electrifying sax solos. Afterwards he said, “THAT’S why you want me to learn sax, isn’t it?

YES.

YES IT IS.

 

Fast forward to the reality.

When I nag my kid to practice, it sounds like Mothra devoured a rural town and is now shitting farm equipment.

Apparently, every kid who plays an instrument in the fifth grade refuses to practice because the sum of them was a horrific violation of sound laws. If there aren’t sound laws, there should be ones that prevent this kind of tuneless caterwauling.

This sounded less like music and more like the agonizing screams of a kitten who accidentally climbed into the radiator fan of your car and was woken up when you turned in the ignition.

I should have prefaced this post by telling you that I have hyperacusis, which is a sensitivity to everyday sounds. It’s a bit of a generalized assessment of my condition, because I particularly have a hard time tolerating tinny or static-y music, off-key singing…

Wow. Maybe I’m just a bitch.

But I also have very pronounced misophonia, which is totally legitimate. It’s an acute reaction to certain low volume sounds and it’s REAL.

The slurping chomping smacking crunching sounds people make when they eat drive me into a blind rage. I have to leave the room when my kid eats cereal or a ceramic bowl will become a lethal weapon.

 

So, this concert was the equivalent of slow torture. Not just “synth intro to Van Halen’s Jump” annoying. More like the “agonizing sounds of a conscious man getting his head sawed off” horrific. (Stay away from 4chan. You’ve been warned.)

The concert was worse than the cries of a thousand tormented souls. It was worse than the  SSSSKKKKKKKRRRRRRSSSHSHSHCKCKCKKKBRKACKGRAZNCKIRGUSHTERBOFPK of a car accident.

You know how people choose to vacation in the Middle East because it’s cheap and accidentally end up near an active war zone? That’s what this concert sounded like.

 

I had all but decided that music is just not my kid’s thing. But yesterday in the car, we were listening again to Lenny Kravitz. I asked Little Dude, “Can you hear the influence of the Beatles in Lenny Kravitz’s music?”

He said he did. I persisted. Irritating my kid when he’s trapped in the car is one of my favorite pastimes.

“Please doesn’t just say yes to shut me up. Do you really hear it? Where?”

He listened for a while. And then “I Build This Garden” came on.

“There Mama, right there. This song is very Beatle-ish, like ‘Eleanor Rigby’.”

Damn if he wasn’t right on the money. The song contains driving rock guitar riffs blended with orchestral strings, in a total Beatles sonic tribute.

 

This was music to my ears.

I’m going to invest in private lessons. And some really good quality ear plugs.

 

Do you ever force feed your kid stuff, especially if it’s something you love?
Did you come from a musical family? Do you think music is important to kids’ development?
Do you have an aversion to certain sounds?
Do I just bug the crap out of my kid?
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

Devil_Janine_II_by_jbooba

 

All men secretly desire boundary-pushing action when they’re parking the pink bus in the fur garage! This holiday season, wake up that hibernating harlot within and shaboink him into oblivion.

SEX FACE

Contort your facial expression so grotesquely that you look like you’ve warped the nerve endings in your face. With a little practice, you’ll resemble a mime choking on a large piece of steak.

Alternate between sticking out your tongue and baring your teeth. Every time he looks at you, he should see another creature from The Twilight Zone having a stroke.

SOUND EFFECTS

Substitute your garden variety moans and sighs with more enthusiastic calls of the wild. Squawk like a kangaroo high on PCP riding a rollercoaster.

For those of us who are well endowed, particularly if your breasts have a nice sag to them, try this: standing at the foot of the bed, put a hand under each breast, and start flapping them up and down while making silly cartoon noises.

SUCK FACE

The goal here is, when kissing, to actually try to eat his face OFF.  It should be horrifying, almost as if you’ve turned into a Headcrab from Half-Life.

For added sensation, dehydrate yourself prior to a makeout session, so your tongue is as dry and abrasive as possible.  Deep kissing him will feel like a rough tongue Glove of Torture.

TALK DIRTY

It’s the dirty dialogue that gives your bedroom romps an X-rating. Instead of the typical “I love the way your Baloney Baton feels in my Pish Flaps,” try some of these deliciously devilish suggestions:

-Replace the traditional “Oh God” with a lusty, “Hail, Satan!”

– Speak in a 30s style gangster voice. Think Edward G. Robinson in Little Caesar, and say something wicked such as,
Supposin’ you put your penis in my tootie fruity, woulda-ya-say?”

Lean in close to his ear, and seductively whisper, “I wanna check you for ticks.”

– Scream aggressively, “DO ME, YOU RUBBER-DICKED FUCK GOD!” Accompany this with a forceful punch in the neck.

– Right before you go down on him, tantalize him by reciting the opening lines from Law and Order, with the words changed slightly:
“In the oral sex act, the participants are represented by two separate yet equally important body parts: the penis, who delivers the semen; and the mouth, who receives the semen. These are their stories.”

Follow this with a resounding, “Dun DUN!” the famous auditory sound effect, reminiscent of a jail cell door slamming.

NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE

Turn ordinary cunnilingus into his fight for life. Actually mold as much flesh as you can over his mouth and nose like silly putty. You’ll know you’ve succeeded when he starts flailing his arms like a drowning man at sea.

ROLE PLAY

Role-play and dressing up offer a unique fantasy aspect that can ignite passion, both visually and psychologically. Instead of the typical “sexy teenage enema nurse” or “underage cheerleader,” you should both dress up in Disney princess outfits. Have a tea party, and refer to him continuously as a “fancy lady.”

While performing oral on him, make sure he asks your permission to have an orgasm. Tell him, ““So you want to come? Well you’re going to have to ask politely, like a fancy lady.”

CLASSICAL GAS

For full-on sex goddess status, consume an especially intestine-abusing meal, such as Mexican food. During sex, release your gas, making sure your butthole is a scant one inch away from one of his nostrils. The fart will go directly into his brain. You’ve heard of a “Dutch Oven?” Mainlining a fart is the infinitely more powerful “Dutch Microwave.”

For extra sexy times, first insert a vibrating butt plug. Unclench those butt cheeks and let ‘er rip. No man can resist you after he sustains blunt force trauma from getting hit in the forehead by a high velocity, fart-propelled butt plug.

SOME LIKE IT ROUGH

Arouse his inner Viking by urging him, “Smack my ass like I stole your Grandma’s Werthers!”

Hopefully he’ll get the idea. If he proceeds to the usual pulling of hair and light choking, yell, “Hurt me, Nancy Boy!” followed by you full-on head-butting the wall.

FELLATIO – EXTRA STRENGTH

Have your man put a dog leash on you. Pretend his penis is a chew toy. Actually gnaw on it like a puppy chewing on a finger. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to leave teeth marks and bruises.

BE ADVENTUROUS

Play tigress and try some of these frisky positions:

The Alaskan Firedog: When switching to reverse cowgirl, kick him in the face.

The Cambodian Helicopter: In the missionary position, while bringing your legs up to wrap them around his torso, bring them all the way up and start slapping his face jowls with your feet.

EXORCIST ORGASM

When having on orgasm drop your voice down several octaves deeper than usual, and let out a manly war cry. Thrust your hips upward into a full bridge, arching your vagina to eye level. Scoot backwards in this position to the far edge of the bed. Then, in that deep booming voice yell, “DON’T TOUCH ME!” Twitch uncontrollably for 5-7 minutes.

 

Remember, it’s important to get aggressive when handling his penis. Squeeze his penis like a stress ball and treat his balls like play dough. He’ll have to cobble an erection together from his shattered dreams, and whatever porn he watched earlier that day. When he slides it in you with the gusto of someone plugging in their phone charger, you’ll know you’ve graduated to a Bad Girl!

Do you think it’s important to spice things up in bed? What are your sexytime favorites? Have you ever injured someone during sex? What’s your favorite episode of Law And Order?
Talk to me.  I’m listening. 

I love this.

I love this.

 

After I pulled my Achilles tendon masturbating exercising last week, I had to face facts: I am old.

Not grandma-take-your-false-teeth-out-to give a guy a blow jay old, but

Middle Aged.

Let’s see. Today, I got excited about half priced asparagus.
Last week, I found a grey hair in my eyebrow. I tweezed that bitch out, and I think I scared the others away.

 

A few months ago, I turned 45. And it made me think about some of the things I no longer do, now that I’m old.

 

PARTY HEAVILY

Those carefree days of college drinking to the point of getting your stomach pumped are over.  At 21, it’s cool to coming home puking at 5 am, wondering where your underwear went.

The last time I drank heavily, my old college boyfriend poisoned me with Vodka and Red Bull. It took me three days to recover. I laid on the couch feeling like a swamp donkey, praying my eyeballs wouldn’t fall out.

At this age, I realize that nothing good has ever come out of waking up on a strange lawn covered in mysterious contusions. Ditto trekking through the snow in the wee hours in search of a drug dealer and a bar still open.  Do you really think when you get inside that the shitty, drug-thirsty patrons are going to get more pleasant rather than desperate and sad? NEVER.

 

WEAR SHORT SHORTS AND KNEE HIGH BOOTS

It’s no secret that I dress like a teenager in a frantic attempt to beat back death. But last summer my BFF staged a fashion intervention when I tried to pull off short shorts and knee-high boots. Apparently, at 45, it doesn’t say “fashion forward” as much as “old hooker.” Ditto the sky-high plastic heels from Frederick’s of Hollywood, which paradoxically, turn a confident sexy stride into a penguin shuffle.

She also encouraged me to light a bonfire and throw some of my slogan tee shirts in it. I guess Jesus really isn’t my homeboy.

However, I adamantly refuse to stop shopping in the junior department. Especially for panties. I feel safer knowing Spiderman is guarding my crotch.

 

DOUBLE DUTCH JUMP ROPE

As a kid, I was REALLY GOOD at Double Dutch. Damn.

It was sublime to be a white girl working it on a black housing project playground, executing a perfect Double Dutch circle turn – which is all about turning speed, leg position, and listening to the ropes.

While visiting my cousin in Brooklyn, I happened upon a group of kids jumping rope and decided to join in, to see if I still had it.

I didn’t. I was way less a Double Dutch diva and waay more a hulking Quasimodo, getting publicly flogged.

 

ATTEMPT ANYTHING I’VE SEEN IN A CARTOON

As a kid I always imagined I could walk in mid-air after stepping off a cliff. Sadly, I know better now.

I also realize that:

I can’t have access to any item, i.e., a canoe, by simply reaching behind me,

Getting electrocuted will NOT turn me momentarily into a skeleton,

If someone points a rifle at me, I cannot tie the barrel into a knot,

If I’m really surprised by what I’m seeing, my eyes will NOT temporarily pop out of my head. Accompanied by an AAAAAOOOOOOGA sound.

 

CLIMB THE MONKEY BARS AT THE PLAYGROUND

I used to love running around on a playground when Little Dude was 3 or 4. But somehow, I went to sleep on the eve of my 40th birthday with a youthful, supple back, and awoke the next morning with the back of an 85-year-old potato farmer.

Remember when playgrounds were fun? Sure, there was a good chance you’d be scalded by a hot metal slide, or walk away with tetanus, but that’s what memories are made of.

The ground wasn’t coated with soft recycled rubber as most are today – they were asphalt. Remember being hurled from a spinning merry-go-round, praying you wouldn’t end up a flesh-colored stain on the asphalt? Good times.

 

DO “THE SAFETY DANCE” 

This was perhaps one of the most bizarre song/videos to come out of the 80’s. Someone, probably Johnny Depp’s acting coach, directed a crazy Canadian band called ‘Men Without Hats’ on a bizarre romp through a medieval village. This reenactment of a Renaissance fair gone horribly awry starred a handsome lead singer, a dwarf, and a deranged blonde woman.

Picture Tywin Lannister’s children tripping balls, and you have the idea.

When I did the Safety Dance 20 years ago, people recognized what I was doing. Now? Nobody understands that I’m flinging my arms stiffly into an “S” position. They think I’m having a seizure.

 

LAP DANCE AT PARTIES

No one wants a lap dance from a drunken, makeup-smeared middle-aged woman at the company holiday party.

But when I was 25? I INVENTED that shit.

 

TALK LIKE A GANGSTA 

I may write things like, “I’ll cut a bitch!” But I never would say it out loud. No 45-year-old suburban woman should.

You’re sitting behind the wheel of a Honda Odyssey with groceries from Costco melting in the back. You’re in the parent pick-up line at school, not a character in Orange is the New Black. Calm the fuck down.

 

CRUSH ON BOY BANDS

As a girl, I was obsessed with the Jackson 5. My early masturbatory fantasies involved Jermaine and Marlon duking it out over who would get to deflower me.

Even as a 20-something, I unapologetically crushed on Color Me Badd. You remember them, don’t you? Their big hit, “I Wanna Sex You Up,” was notable for coining the douchiest come-on line ever, and is probably responsible for making their sole source of income residual checks from VH1’s “Where Are They Now” show.

But nowadays? Un-uh. After I described to a friend a sex dream I had about Kendall from Big Time Rush, I was accused of being “creepy.” People! He’s only in high school on the TV show! The lad is 24!

Still, my advice? Go into ‘private session’ mode on Spotify. Otherwise, everyone can see your “recently played” list and you look like a pedophile.

 

PUT UP WITH BULL SHIT

That’s the upside to middle age. You take the “fuck you” pill. Life is too short to take people’s bullshit.

If some wealthy, self-involved, yuppie/hipster, granola-eating broad at Whole Foods wants to wrongly accuse me of jumping the line, she’d better not get nasty with me. Cause I will cut a bitch!

 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go yell at some kids to GET OFF MY LAWN!!

 

 

For your viewing pleasure: The Safety Dance
The power lines scattered throughout the Medieval village just add to the surreal, WTF? quality of it all.

 

What things do you no longer do, that you used to?
Talk to me.  I’m listening. 

imagesDE89RHD4

Okay, THAT’S just disgusting.

But I had to find the male version of the picture I posted for the female edition of “What’s Buggin You.”

Today, we have some of the funniest guys in Blog Land tell you about THEIR pet peeves. So get your Thursday off to a good start and head on over to the SisterWives blog to read about what gets the guys ticked off!

P.S. WTF is on his face?