Sunday, May 22, 2011


Recently I read about a 32 year old Brazilian woman who won the right to masturbate at work. This woman can legally rub one out, several times a day, at the office. How in the hell did this cum to be? The article explained how she suffers from anxiety & hypersexuality and masturbation helps her take the edge off. Hellooooo???? Masturbation takes the edge off for……EVERYONE. Frankly, who doesn’t have a twinge of anxiety and hypersexuality? It’s rampant in society today. The cheating scandals alone have become so salacious it would take Woody Harrelson fornicating with a dolphin to get anyone’s attention. This woman is literally a fucking genius. She’s a modern day Norma Rae, fighting for “Labia Unions.” Who couldn’t benefit from being allowed to clean the pipes during the day?

Employers would have to provide gender specific, clean, private spaces where employees could go to “work the spreadsheet” or “jam the copier.” Let’s call it a “Masturbation Chamber.” The Chamber is part Swiss Army lounge and part self cleaning oven. Once you walk in, the door locks, the lights dim, a screen drops from the ceiling and with a wave of your hand under the lube dispenser away you go. The only thing you’ll ever have to touch is yourself. The Chamber is designed to make your 5 minute experience as efficient and enjoyable as possible. Once you’re out of the room it’s cleaned, sanitized and ready for your annoying co-worker who smells like kimchi. We do live in the age of technology. I’d be surprised if the Japanese weren’t already working on a prototype. Recent tragedy aside, they’re a horny little culture and I for one will be happy when they’re back on their backs.

Imagine how much better your work week would be if you could, “Take 5. Stroke one out and circle back.” You have a major deadline you’re worried about making? Crank it out and then crank it out. You’re about to give a career making speech to the Board of Directors? Clear your head so you can clear your head. You’ve made too many grande soy venti mocha iced blended fuckyouitscoffees for impolite people? On second thought, maybe food service is exempt.

I bet the economy would bounce back and production would increase dramatically if employees were allowed to take a moment or 3 to Rub-a-dub-dub. Workplace masturbation would insure people making decisions are really focused on making good decisions. We’d certainly have less hang ups about sex. Not to mention the health benefits. Men would be less aggressive. Women would be more relaxed. I know for a fact Dr. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhz would be on board. At least he is when I think about him. I’m not going to say we won’t have issues but I assume people would be less likely to blow shit up after 3 orgasms. So the next time you find yourself stressed out at work stick this idea in your suggestion box.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

The Top 10 Reasons Why I Wouldn’t Make A Good Princess

-If the paparazzi were chasing me I’d be hanging out the Bentley screaming, “stop acting like fucking assholes. Go fuck yourself!”

-I have a bad stomach. I had diarrhea in the only public bathroom before and during my grandfather’s funeral, I clogged the toilet at my sister’s wedding and I shit myself in the parking lot of Party City. Princesses don’t even fart.

-I snore and on occasion have drooled on my face, hand and pillow. A proper princess should appear beautiful and almost dead while sleeping.

-I already have too many stepmothers. Some poisons you just can’t taste.

-I like to party – leave it at that until it’s legal

-No prince can save me. I’m not so much a damsel in distress as I’m a slow moving train wreck. My savior will be no man as I already have the best one. I’ll save myself.

-I’d totally whore out my title. I’d be all, “Umm hello???? I’m a fucking Princess???????”

-I forget people’s names 23 seconds after I meet them and we all know how I handle pressure.

-I measure relative humidity with my hair and princesses don’t wear extensions.

-Princesses only get kissed. I want to get laid.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Attractive Box For Rent





We believe the writer fled in the middle of the night. She must have left in a hurry because there was a glass of water and the smell of marajuana in the air. The place is quite nice, cheerful and loaded with sarcasm and puns. All it really needs is a good paint job and maybe upgrade the electrical box. There's a good amount of half started entries, some have legs. Some were written under the influence and would only make sense to a llama. There is plenty of room to add on:

Are you a wife and mother with young children?
Do you adore your beautiful young children?
Do you sometimes think your beautiful children are assholes?
Do you kind of suck at being a housewife but rock being a wife?
Do you like to make people laugh?
Do you have the discipline to sit down and write?

If you fit this description, fuck off, she'll be back soon.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Driving Miss Crazy

My Dearest Children,

I write to you on the eve of my 40th fucking birthday. I have taught you many things in your young lives but NOTHING will be as important as what I write to you now. Why now? Because I want to make sure I am of sound mind when I explain what I will require in my golden years.

How to Properly Care For Your Elderly Mama:

•Please don’t let me sit in shit. I never left you in poopy so pay it forward.
•Don’t let me have facial hair. There are few things more disturbing than an old lady with a goatee.
•Since I’m convinced I will have octogenarian acne, please place a band-aid over any blemishes resembling a teratoma.
•Insist I put my teeth in. Unless daddy tells you to take them out.
•Place daddy and I in bed together and lock the door. Come back in 15 minutes and don’t ask questions.
•Please cut up my sushi. No one wants to see an old lady gum a piece of tuna.
•If at all possible make sure I have a male nurse who looks like Zak Efron shower me.
•If I can’t roll it myself please roll it for me. (It’ll be legal by then)
•Make sure I don’t trip over my boobs.
•Draw in my eyebrows as well as a teardrop prison tat so people know I’m still a badass bitch.
•If I lose my hair please do not cover my scalp with anything from the Jessica Simpson wig collection.
•Don’t get upset when I tell you things over and over and over again.
•Don’t get upset when I tell you things over and over and over again.

Shit, it’s happening already.

**I love you my babies. Yes, you will always be my babies.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

It's A Decade Damn It!

10 years ago today I had a nervous breakdown in a nail salon, picked a fight with my betrothed, did a shot and quietly mumbled my way through my wedding ceremony. Don’t get me wrong I was overjoyed to be marrying my husband; I just wanted to do it privately. I didn’t want anyone else to witness something so important to me, but I’m kooky and slightly neurotic. FINE! I’m completely neurotic.

You have to understand, I never dreamed about having a wedding. In fact, I wasn’t totally sure I was going to get married. But then I met "him" and my world was overturned faster than a Jersey housewife flips a table. Our courtship was the stuff movies are made of and although I poured my heart out privately all I could muster on our wedding day was, “ditto.” I couldn’t get out of my own way long enough to tell the love of my life everything I’d written to him.

I thought about sharing my vows here but they still seem too personal. But since it’s been 10 years and we’ve grown as a couple, here’s an updated version:

- I still promise I won’t cook.

- I promise I can’t fix it. If it plugs in, needs batteries or a trip to the ER, it's all you.

- I promise I will NEVER like football. However, I will give zombies and Cold War movies a chance so I can spend more time with you.

- I promise to always let you know how happy I am to see you when you walk through the door.

- I promise to try not to speak in “thingy.”

- I promise to always love your “thingy.”

- I promise to laugh with you, a lot.

- I promise I'd never do this with anyone but you.

**Happy 10 year anniversary, my love. I’m better when you’re around.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Goodnight Youth

When I was a girl my bedtime routine consisted of washing and brushing. Within minutes I was in bed, snuggled with my stuffed animals. As I got older the occasional blemish popped up requiring an extra step, but I was still warm and cozy fairly quickly. In college, convinced I looked like a Puerto Rican boy, I began “moustache maintenance” which further increased my time commitment.

Luckily in my 20’s, I often came home wasted at 2AM which rendered me content to pass out with make-up plastered to my face. Last night’s mascara was next morning’s eyeliner.

In the past few years though, I find myself standing on the cold tile for what feels like 2.5 hours scrutinizing my face in a magnified mirror. It’s not as bad as I’m making it out to be, but I’ve said goodnight to my youth. This reminded me of one of my children’s favorite bedtime books, “Goodnight Moon.”

Goodnight Youth:

In a quiet bathroom
There was rejuvenating goo
And fine line cream too

Tooth whitening paste
Ultra moisturizing face
Overpriced gunk
Gets you out of that funk
You’re not over the hill
There’s no magic pill

Be a sexy spouse
In a grown up house
You tweeze & you push
Try to lift up your tush
Spice things up by shaving your bush

Goodnight Retin A
Goodnight Le Mer
Goodnight wrinkles everywhere

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Theatre Of The Absurd

Lately the phrase “I’m telling” makes my sphincter tighten and my chin break out. It seems every five seconds a grave injustice is being committed in our house or car and being reported to me faster than you can say TMZ. A minor infraction, like being called a “poopy baby diaper,” seems to carry the same weight as being bludgeoned in the back with a LEGO ship, on purpose. I understand the importance of “If You See Something, Say Something” but can you imagine if we lived in a society where every pissy little thing was reported? Flicking a cigarette out the window would incite an OJ style police chase. Not holding the door for someone would be grounds for the guillotine. I’m tired of being judge, jury and executioner for ridiculous trials like this:

Plaintiff: “He called me a baby diaper.”
Judge: “Did you call her a baby diaper?”
Defendant: Yes. But she—
Judge: “Bup bup. Yes or No?”
Defendant: “Yes.”
Judge: “Are you in fact a baby diaper?”
Plaintiff: “No”
Judge: “Move on.”

My new motto is, “Work it out.” You were born with common sense; you need to start to use it. In fact I’ve adopted a “Don’t Bleed, Don’t Tell” policy. If you’re not bleeding, I don’t want to hear it. Unlike that other silly military one, mine makes sense. I no longer want to mediate peace talks regarding “The Middle Couch” or vote on “America’s Next Top Whiner.” I understand there will be some kinks. I mean, a Wii controller to the face still carries a sentence of solitary confinement but I'll no longer listen to the petty bullshit and instead say, "go tell your father."

FYI, when one little kid calls another little kid a “poopy baby diaper” they’re essentially saying you’re a “piece of shit.”

Monday, September 6, 2010

Top 10 Jobs I'm Thankful I Don't Have

I love Labor Day although I have absolutely no idea why we celebrate it. I know it signifies the end of summer and for many of us it’s Mother Nature’s 10 minute warning before she bends us over to insert her icy dildo. I started reading about Labor Day but frankly it was too labor intensive and involved murder at the hands of the government. So, I’ve decided to interpret it as I see fit. Understand this list is specific to me. If you or someone you know does one or more of these jobs, then please enjoy the fruit basket that awaits you in heaven. Think of me as I munch on Wasa Bread in hell.

Top 10 Jobs I’m Thankful I Don’t Have:

#1 Bathroom Attendant – Really? Isn’t it bad enough we have to relieve ourselves next to others doing the same thing. Why is it necessary to subject an innocent bystander to the vocal stylings of our excrement? What Assjacket can’t work a faucet? Besides, the tips are shitty.

#2 Hotel Maid - Although this is a necessary service, it’s one I would NEVER perform unless outfitted in a spacesuit. It’s called “Hotel Sex” for a reason. In fact there are certain hotel rooms which should be receiving child support since they contain as much of our DNA as our own children. There aren’t enough pillow chocolates to entice me to touch, let alone, clean the remote control in a hotel room.

#3 American Girl Doll Hair Stylist - The dolls are easy to handle and obviously can’t complain if you fuck up. But the owners, God help you. I’ve stood and watched hundreds of mini Leona Helmsley’s bark orders at stylists regarding their little generic playmate’s coiffes. You never want to mess with a tiny tyrant. Lord knows what happened to these dolls to make their hair so fucked up in the first place.

#4 Flight attendant – Because recycled air, unwashed masses and unlimited alcohol can be a dangerous combination. There are a host of other reasons I’d never willingly fly back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, but if I tell you, the terrorists win. FYI, in my mind terrorists are also people who: remove nail polish, fart into the seat thinking the odor will be absorbed, get drunk & belligerent, eat liver & onions, and masturbate next to you while watching “Top Chef.”

#5 Mine Sweeper – In a nutshell, I have a terrible sense of direction even with a GPS. Plus, something tells me I wouldn’t pull off the wooden leg look like Heather Mills.

#6 Prostitute – Although I’d most likely be “Employee of the Month”, I don’t even like shaking a stranger’s hand. ‘Nuff said. Also, I can’t walk in heels.

#7 Drug Lord or The President – In my mind these jobs are interchangeable. Both require little sleep (something I just can’t part with) and selling your soul. I could never live with the pressure associated with these thankless high profile jobs.

#8 Celebrity Assistant – Honestly this may be the worst job out there. I imagine most of these self centered, overindulgent, and megalomaniacal (or MegaLOHANiacal) people run circles around your average set of quintuplets when it comes to whiney, ludicrous demands.

Eh, it’s Labor Day so 8’s good enough for me.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

What I Did Over My Summer Vacation By Lady of the House

I was more social than studious in school. Shocker, I know. However, I loved opening my Blue Book at the beginning of the year and writing about what I did over my summer vacation. Since I rent this little space on the internet I’d like to share some of this summer’s highlights.

Wiped my son’s asshole: For the first half of summer this act took place at his bequest every morning at 6:30 AM. I’d be in a delicious slumber and he’d bellow, “Mama! Can you wipe me up? Mama! Wipe me up!” Many suggested leaving him to his own devices but when I did, they were covered in poop. It was easier to sleep-wipe and go back to bed.

Ate enough to clog the arteries of a small village: From popcorn to ice cream. Wine tastings to Nutella, I ate the shit out of this summer. You would think being half naked in public would quell my desire for frosty treats but it only made me want them more. Luckily, I stopped short and bowed out of the “Gorilla Challenge.” (8 scoops + toppings = name on the Wall of Fame.)

Fantasized about the insanely gorgeous 30 year old man who guards the beach in front of our beach house: I lovingly refer to this man as “Lifeguard.” He makes drowning a sex act. I believe this is a direct correlation to one of the other things I did a lot this summer.

Had lazy mornings: I’ve never been a morning person and frankly if we don’t have to be somewhere before 10, why bother? I’m not ashamed to admit there were weekdays I slept until 9:30AM. It helped that my husband and I developed a fool proof plan on how to sleep in with children*.

*Except for the time they watched 25 minutes of “The Hangover” while we snored and drooled.

Went on an amazing 10 day beach vacation with my family: One of the perks of my marriage is my husband and I have tons of fun together. Sadly, the confines of our daily lives make it so we don’t get to spend as much time together. Being on vacation with him makes life better. Luckily his semen & my eggs created two beach dwelling offspring, plus if they act up we just bury them in the sand.

All in all, this summer I got tan, fat, and laid.


Monday, May 31, 2010

The Housewife Of Tomorrow

I’m pissed at Steve Jobs. Every other week this man invents something smaller and faster, designed to make life easier. Whose life exactly? Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the fruits of his labor, but I could live without watching a movie on the toilet. You know what I can’t live without? A self loading and unloading dishwasher. The last time I checked I only had a washer and dryer. Where the fuck is my “folder?” If Steve Jobs had to do multiple loads of laundry a day you know we’d have an “iFold” by now. Its 2010, housewives need in on this action. My shit needs an upgrade and while your there, invent a 3G spot.

Ovens and microwaves have been doing the same thing since they were invented. Sure, they’ve gotten some bells and whistles over the years but you still have to cook stuff. With the kind of technology out there today you should be able to walk over to a box, say, “turkey dinner” and have a hot turkey dinner shoved in your face. It’s ridiculous we still have to vacuum our houses. I don’t care if it spins dirt or does the Roomba; it’s still just a vacuum. I need a mouthy robot servant with vacu-arms. Most importantly, I need to be able to teleport. Frankly, who wouldn’t benefit from being beamed from place to place? At the very least we should have a Super Skyway by now. Every future movie I’ve ever seen has dangled this space craft bullshit in front of me, so where is it?

If we could eradicate the “busy work” from our lives just think of how much time we’d have left for what’s really important. Since I’m asking if someone could invent a flushable car toilet I’d really appreciate that too.