For love or money

If you’ve never had the pleasure of purchasing new home furnishings out of necessity, let me tell you why it sucks balls.

I’ve got an 11-yr. old child. He’s pretty much the male version of me; so basically, an asshole with a curfew. Much to my chagrin, keeping him locked in a closet and feeding him protein shakes and vegetables is frowned upon by child protective services. I’d come up with something less savory, but believe me, these foods are torture for him; that’s enough for me. The thing with kids is, they grow up. In so doing, they require new furniture. This twin size bed he’s in isn’t cutting it anymore. Poor little asshole’s feet hang over the end of his bed. It’s not my fault his father is a sasquatch. Won’t make that mistake again. If this most recent marriage fails, it’s nothing but midgets for me from here on out. *Sorry honey*

I’ve had to do research on the different types of mattresses out there. I’m old now and shit's changed since the last time I bought one of these. Spring mattresses, I’m familiar with. Memory foam, I’ve heard of. In fact, that’s what’s on my son’s frame. What the fuck is a latex mattress?! Fools are allergic to latex, right? How fucked up would that be? Get a bed, unbeknownst to you it’s latex, and for the unforeseeable future your shit is fucked up 7 ways to Sunday. Or, at least until you figure out you’re sleeping on a giant condom.

After much debate I decided I wanted an old school spring mattress. Or do I? My rational was that latex was expensive, and well, the whole condom thing. Then I started thinking about sex. That’s right, sex. If you’re a family member, you may want to close out this application and just walk away now, before it’s too late.

Spring mattresses provide “assistance” to my partner when he’s on top, so that’s a tally mark in the spring category. Spring mattresses also tend to blow out over time and sag, like my boobs and ass, so we can safely strike that tally. Blank slate. Let’s talk memory foam. If you’ve never had an opportunity to defile a memory foam mattress, we’re in the same boat. I have been able to sleep on one though. In my experience the bed conforms to your shape. It kind of sucks you into it. It’s quite comfortable…unless your trying to have sex, I imagine.

So, my husband and I talking pros/cons about memory foam and it occurs to me that if I’m on top, and my knees sink into this mattress, this is going to create a fuck ton of work for me without the spring-back action that our old mattress provides. I already don’t like this idea. I feel like Artax in the swamps of sadness, unable to go further, so tired, giving in to the mattress. I don’t give a shit if it’s hypoallergenic, it’s unsuitable for lovemaking. There Mom, I didn’t call it fucking…are you happy? (Of course, she’s still reading. I said stop, so naturally she grabbed popcorn)

I should have just taken my chances locking my spawn in the damn closet. It would have been much easier than deciding between comfort, price, and whether to cripple our coupling. No need for new furniture, this broom closet suits the child just fine.

And that is how I wound up being investigated by CPS…

A Star Is Born: A review of some other asshole's review

We can have differences of opinion. Secretly we both know the winningest one, the one with the most weight in any argument, is mine. It stands to reason that the appraisal of the movie, A Star Is Born, should be no different.

Office talk on Monday’s is always the same; I pretend to be interested in their sports talk, and they pretend to give a shit about what I did with my kid over the weekend. It’s no-win situation. I need at least 1.5 cups of coffee before the desire to shoot myself in the face subsides. I’ve also learned that after 3 cups, that desire turns outward and becomes homicidal, so it’s a precarious balance. Learning is fun.

This Monday we got on the topic of MoviePass and how we wish it would lick our balls with its fucked-up restrictions. Fast forward a bit (because I don’t feel like writing a saga) and we’re discussing A Star Is Born. For those of you that live under a fucking rock or don’t have a girlfriend who has dragged you to see this yet, it’s the story of Lady Gaga…but before she became The Gaga. It’s her humble beginnings. For me, it was about her husband. Wanna know why? Of course you do! Nosy motherfuckers.

In this film her husband, played by Bradley Cooper, is a drug & alcohol addict. Naturally, I’m all in. I don’t really give a shit about Gaga anymore. I mean, sure, her story is compelling, and she can sing. I’ll give her that. But for me, the real story is the relationship with her husband and his struggle with addiction. Admittedly, there are parts of this film that are hard for me to watch. I identified with his character. I also wanted to scream at how poorly he snorted his drugs. How fuckin’ wasteful!! I guess if you’re filthy rich, you can coarse chop your dope not worry about dropping rocks in the carpet; must be nice – fucker.

My co-worker tells me that the movie isn’t believable, that’s its major flaw. He says to me that Bradley Cooper’s character would never have reacted to the events that took place in the way that he did. I’m trying not to ruin it for those of you gentlemen who still have plans to take your lady to see it in hopes of getting laid.

Here’s the thing: I’m an addict, you Richie Cunnigham, have never known the hurt of wanting anything more than the occasional soda that’s been stricken from your diet by your doctor. I take that back; there’s the time your wife wouldn’t put out for a whole 2 weeks because you swore in front of the kids and gambled the “date night” money on soccer bets. That must have been rough. So, don’t tell me that you know how an addict would act, or react after coming out of a rehabilitation facility. YOU don’t have a fucking clue. Please refrain from assuming you understand how anyone who has suffered addiction and sought treatment will react. YOU don’t.

His indignation irritated me, clearly. To toss a movie entirely on this one bias seemed really fucking stupid, especially considering he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. I didn’t think it was the best movie ever written, but I thought it was good. I certainly thought it was good enough to get a dude laid for taking his girl to see it and being the “sensitive type.” I cried like a little bitch.

You’re entitled to your opinion of this movie too, just know that mine is rooted in experience and therefore more valid. If you have experience and your opinion differs from mine, well…kindly keep that shit to yourself. No one asked you anyway.

Halloween Halldark

Once a year you’re allowed to show up in costume and make demands of others. This year why don’t you show up as someone with a conscience and I’ll give you what’s left of my attention and time.

Happy Halloween,

Your fucking doormat

#Halldark, for when you care enough to send whatever

Aging apathy

They say as we get older we become more confident – more comfortable in our skin. We perhaps spend less time focusing on the trivial details of our physical self and see the whole of our existence and our accomplishments as the more important evidence of a well lived life. I’d like to declare bullshit. Complete and total bullshit!

I’m nearly 39 and I’m no closer to being “okay” with aging than I am with letting a stranger watch me take a shit. I don’t have a cabinet full of expensive anti-aging serums or wrinkle creams, I’m not made of money; I’d honestly rather spend my cash on good food. Then, I can get fat, feel shitty, complain, buy expensive running shoes, then run until I feel terrible again, and finally gloat. It’s painfully fucked up, really. It’s nowhere near confident, that’s for damn sure.

I really miss my 20-something year old complexion. I remember what it felt like to not have to use moisturizer, to just be naturally supple. There was a time when I had natural color in my cheeks too. Now if I want color, it’s store bought. My natural shade these days is something comparable to Behr Complacent Studio Clay MQ2-27. Sallow skin – sallow, sad, skin. If eating small children was guaranteed to give me my youthful glow back, I’d start looking for recipes. No one is going to miss the little asshole that screams at his mom from the front of the cart at the store. Don’t look appalled, you know you’ve rolled your eyes at the inattentive mother and the unruly child.

Oh, you’re confident about the aging process?? Great!! Let’s find a casting director and get you in a commercial for advanced age Maybelline! Me? I’m busy being cast in the next commercial for antidepressants; we’re reading the 3ft long list of possible effects. *This is actually listed as a possible side effect of Zoloft “trouble concentrating, memory problems, weakness, fainting, seizure, shallow breathing, or breathing that stops.”* Last time I checked, breathing that stops, is dying.

https://www.rxlist.com/zoloft-side-effects-drug-center.htm

At this stage in the game, I have more products in my cabinet to ease the discomfort of occasional urinary tract infections, yeast infections, hemorrhoids, and constipation than I have things to increase pleasure. That is to say, I own one pair of CFM (come fuck me) pumps - those poor things are collecting cat fur in my closet, and I own zero lingerie, seems so impractical. I have 17 varying sizes of gauze pads but have zero personal lubricant. Strike that. I have coconut oil. Even that, I used for medicinal purposes. Don’t ask.

A while back I consulted my husband about buying a yoga swing. If you think anyone really uses those things for yoga, well, bless your pea-pickin heart. What a simple sweetheart you must be. I thought I’d like to spice things up a bit. Really, I was desperately trying to hold on to whatever notion of sensuality or being a sexual being that I had. All of that came screeching to a halt when I played the tape through in my head and envisioned myself getting caught in the straps and injuring myself, possibly breaking an arm or an ankle. Never mind the completely unattractive visual of being snared in this contraption naked and twisted, fighting to keep balance and eventually face-planting or pulling a groin muscle.

Also, did you know that some people have complete playlists on their phones for sex? People create mood music playlists and I don’t mean like one or two songs. What the fuck is that? Don’t people just listen to the dishwasher anymore? It took me a long time to realize that listening to my upstairs neighbors was creepy. In my defense I didn’t know Pornhub was free so I was making the best of my situation.  Yes, Tom and Diane, I know what you two like. Shame on you guys for not walking your dog more frequently too. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.

So, to recap: I’m a super creepy neighbor and I’m not very exciting. I am however, the person you want to be in the company of if you should injure yourself. I have plenty of gauze and various other medical supplies.