Manthers VS. Cougars ~ The Battle Of The Sexes & Age Disparity

"There Is Always A 20 Year Old Out There Looking To Hook Up With Mrs. Robinson."
~Me, As I Approached 30.

I can't remember the last time I went out with someone my age or older than me.  To determine the youngest person you should date, take one half of your age, and add seven years.  You shouldn’t date anyone younger than that.  I am no math scholar, however, I have faith in my calculator and it states that I could still get away with dating/bedding  a college student in an MBA program.  Men should take their age, divide by two and add seven.  Apparently, men are supposed to date younger women and women can "get away with" dating younger men.  As usual, there appears to be a double standard.  Shocking!

They say that men mature slower than women.  Personally, I think that when men reach their 40's they just start to digress and need their bananas mashed up.  They also need to be the center of attention and are frequently selfish. However, all charming people are spoiled.  Trust me, I should know.  They get hormonal too.  I can't decide if I should ask them if they need a diaper or a tampon.  They appear to be menopausal hence the prefix "men".  There are easier things in life then dating men like this like nailing jelly to a tree for example.  And if I do come across single men my age or older they resemble a pumpkin who has had everything scraped out of his head with a spoon.

Ultimately, I would like to spend my life with someone my age.  Someone who remembers Jiffy Pop, Atari, the invention of the microwave and so on, but if I was meant to be with someone my age I think he already got hit by a truck.  For now, I think I will just THOROUGHLY enjoy dating younger men.  It was fun when I did it before.  I actually started perfecting the art of being a goddess to younger men when I was 28.  I had just exited an 8 year relationship with a complete bottom feeder who was beneath me and might I add did not know how to get beneath me in the right way.  I was free and I was ready to see the free world.  I lived in a college town so I was swimming in a sea of Freshmen.  My only hang up at the time was that I felt I had to compete with every younger guys crush on Britney Spears, but nobody wants to even hear about that train wreck now so I am in business.  It's Britney Bitch!

Eluding The Fashion Police: Love, Honor & Obey Lady Laws

"A women who doesn't wear perfume has no future."
Coco Chanel

Back in the 1970's when I was a little lady and didn't know any better, I would flip through my grandmother's Good Housekeeping and Ladies Home Journal magazines and daydream about all the layers of fried chicken that I would create for my family one day, but never ever ever did I thumb through her copies of Harper's Bazaar and aspire to be on the worst dressed list.

There are rules of being a lady.

Rule#1: Make your own rules.

Rule #2: Break all of the rules.

Rule#3: You can only follow rules #1 & #2 if you are a woman of my caliber and my ranking. Why do I consider myself special? I come from a long line of glamorous, classy women so I am just lucky like that.

Unfortunately, some most unfortunate women were raised in pop-up camper parks by mixed breed coyotes, therefore, they don't know any better, but have no fear misfits, I am here to dispense advice.

Sequins have a curfew. You will never catch me in sequins after 3 am. Why have I chosen this time? Because at this point most of the bars have closed and you and your friends have made it to some one's house for some after hours pleasure. Also, you will never catch me running around with my shoes dangling from my dainty fingertips like a clutch. I had to learn that lesson the hard way. There I was, New Orleans, Mardi Gras 2000. My feet were covered in blisters because I decided to devour beads in 5 inch wedges from dusk until dawn. I felt like I could not go on so until I stumbled into a store and bought some flats I walked around barefoot. On Bourbon Street. I am amazed that I still have 2 feet. Walking barefoot publicly, just screams that you are fat, hungry and wasted. I'm not fat and when I do get wasted I tend to carry myself rather well, except for one recent weekend when I knocked a bunch of shit over. The only time your bare feet should touch a public surface is when you are standing on your star on Hollywood Boulevard and even I don't have one of those...Yet. These two rules are the reason why you should ALWAYS pack an overnight bag. You should always be armed with a change of cute, but comfy clothes and a pair of comfortable flats or flops. AND, another reason to pack a "I might not be coming home" bag dates back to NYE 2010 which can be referenced in this post:

http://peachyinthecity.blogspot.com/2010/01/self-awareness-and-one-night-standa.html.
It was fun, though. : )

On a what not to wear and what to bring along note, you should always have a few staple pieces in your closet/possession. For me, staple pieces are items that you spend a little bit more money on that really stand out and add some "pop" to that little black dress that isn't so exciting anymore, mainly because it has been hanging in your closet for awhile and it no longer provides you with that "feels brand new" high. Some of my staple pieces include, a nude faux (of course) crocodile handbag, a pair of hot pink ruffled suede ankle booties and my newest favorite addition which is a leopard print scarf with a hint of green in it. I love scarves. If you start to feel like a disintegrating Cinderella and you want to take it off you can always tie it around your purse handles and let it hang to the side.

Don't ever wear designer knock-offs. That is a criminal act which should be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. If you can't afford a plethora of your favorite designer pieces then save your money to purchase at least one of your dream items. Tuck your savings away in a "shit I can't afford" jar. Don't worry too much, I have owned everything from Gucci and Chanel to Louis Vuitton and Prada, however, I think designer overkill is tacky. Yes, I am referring to Gucci and Louis Vuitton imprinted birthday cakes. I mean, really? I prefer cupcakes anyway. Cupcakes drenched in hard liquor. I am down with the old school barbie doll cake too. You know the one. The cake that is built around the base of the doll. Damn, some great ideas sprung from the 80's.

Be CREATIVE. Don't ever compose the polite gesture of thanking someone via email or text message. Text messages are for touching base, confirming plans and most importantly breaking up. Yes, I am guilty of breaking up via text message, so if you are reading this and have an interest in me then consider yourself warned. I apologize in advance. Wait a second, I take that back. I make no apologies for myself. It is what it is. I am who I am. To know me is to love me. You get the point. So, stationary is so very important. You don't even have to go out and buy it. You can craft it yourself. It is not about the expense, because many times the materials used to hand make items usually totals more than the actual item on the shelf. It is all about personal touch. A note or a gift doesn't mean as much if thought has not been put into it. Speaking of gifts...Buy people gifts. Be kind and generous. Generous does not have to equal expensive. It truly is the thought that counts unless of course we are talking about the guy who thought he could have sex with you, but was too drunk to make it happen. That thought doesn't count. That person doesn't count.

Speaking of physical pleasure, DO NOT refer to your "special place" as a va jay jay. I don't care what Oprah says. In the past, I have referenced it as my Mary Poppins. I have no idea why. Maybe it is because it takes care of people (men)? Or maybe it is because it is like a spoonful of sugar? Who knows. Most recently, she has taken on the term "Cookie". Either way it is couture. It is like Saks Fifth Avenue. Not everyone can shop there.

The most important law revolves around CONFIDENCE. You must exude confidence in order to succeed. If you lack confidence, start hanging out with me. I am steering a yacht full of confidence and I would love to have you on deck so get on board!

Last but not least, you should always carry gum. I love the positive affirmations I get from carrying gum, because nobody else carries it and they always want it. AND, always, always SMILE. It costs nothing to smile! : )

**These laws and rules are DIANE tested and approved**

Family Vacation Stress Syndrome And Adventurous Adventures

"I think you're all fucked in the head. We're ten hours from the fucking fun park and you want to bail out. Well I'll tell you something. This is no longer a vacation. It's a quest. It's a quest for fun. I'm gonna have fun and you're gonna have fun. We're all gonna have so much fucking fun we'll need plastic surgery to remove our god damn smiles. You'll be whistling 'Zip-A-Dee Doo-Dah' out of you're assholes! I gotta be crazy! I'm on a pilgrimage to see a moose. Praise Marty Moose! Holy Shit!"

~Clark Griswold in Vacation

Family vacations...They begin in a mystery and end in a mystery. Some of my favorite memories consist of past family vacations. The funny incidents, the little mishaps, etc. And whenever I want to revisit those memories and go off the rails on a crazy train, I'll just shut my eyes and I'm in Heaven/Hell/The Comedy Store once again...

Whenever most people travel with family they find out whether they like someone or hate them. Not in my family. There is no time for emotions when you are dealing with a medical crisis. And by medical crisis I mean watching the car in front of you running into a mountain or having the whole world watch you fall in the street.

Oh where oh where do I begin?  The funny stuff or the events that led to scrapes and bruises?  I will start with the funny stuff, because the escapades in injury turned out to be humorous as well.

Those that say you can't take it with you never saw a car packed for a vacation trip.  I have flown so much in my life that I don't care about the window seat anymore, however, my family unit and I didn't fly that much to our vacation destinations.  Apparently, my father thought it would be a much better idea to torpedo us into the car and send us on our way.  Trust me when I say that hours and hours on the open road bring out some murderous tendencies in you.  I once walked into my gynecologists office and told the nurse that I was a homicidal maniac because I was hormonal.  LIE!  I think it was a pre-existing condition brought on by family vacations.  I am claustrophobic.  What can I say.  You can't confine me in a small space with anybody for a significant period of time.  Not even Brad Pitt.

I am sure we have all had somebody bang on our front door in the middle of the morning.  Well at least you have if you are a desirable female.  That middle of the morning nuisance was taken to a whole different level on one of my family vacations.  Some family crazier than mine woke us up by banging on our tent.  It was a case of mistaken identity, because we were not who they were looking for.  My family was crazy, but they were also proper.  We met other families for dinner, not for campground trips.  The intruders were very apologetic.  I am not sure what it was that made them want to invite us to a kumbayah sing-a-long around the campfire the next night.  It could have been the sheer terror they felt when my eyes spit nails because I had awoken from a deep slumber infused with visions of the Hardy Boys or maybe they just felt like complete morons in general.  Needless to say I didn't make it to the campground choir rehearsal even though the invite was pretty much received as they were down on their knees begging for mercy.  I had a dinner date with the ducks which entailed me feeding them bread and Honeycomb cereal.  Actually that was the only time I was allowed to eat sugary food that was bad for me.  My grandmother was the one who packed the cereal for us.  I shared some with the ducks, but I sneaked the rest.  I thought I had hit the effin' jackpot!  Speaking of food, I got in big trouble over food on one of our vacations.  I believe we were somewhere between Illinois and Hell.  We had stopped off at a Wendy's and I pitched a fit because I ordered a hamburger without ketchup and what did I receive?  A hamburger with ketchup.  I am okay with ketchup with fries, but I don't like it touching my meat or my bun.  It just reminds me of something highly inappropriate.  My father was highly annoyed so he banned me from going to the hotel pool after dinner.  I was devastated.  I cried and cried as if somebody had kidnapped my grandmother.  To this day I don't know what my damage entailed.  While I didn't have a pool in my backyard, I had access to many pools and usually complained because I was tired of being in them.  I had my choice of the YMCA, the yacht club and the country club pools on any given day.  My mother would drop me off at swimming lessons and I would catch a ride home with every kid I knew who magically got an ear infection just to have my mother take me right back.  She pulled that with bible school too.  If there were 2 things she wanted for me it was for me to know how to swim and know the bible.  Did she want me to be a christian athlete or be saved when I drowned?  Maybe both.  As far as the hotel cess pool went I must have just had this strong urge to mix and mingle and do underwater handstands with trailer trash from the 50 different states.

Enough fun.  Bring on the physical pain!  There we were.  Cruising along in the car in the Tennessee mountains.  My sister and I were singing at top of our lungs to the radio.  "Don't Go Away Mad" by Motley Crue was playing.  Imagine Ralphie and Randy singing on the way to pick out a Christmas tree in "A Christmas Story".  Our singing was like most heavy metal.  It was loud and obnoxious, but we were so proud.  I overheard my father say, "that guy has lost it".  I had no idea what he was talking about, nor did I care.  I was in the middle of the best karaoke performance of my life!  Whether I liked it or not, I very quickly found out what my father was talking about.  The car ahead of us, veered off into the median and then came back and shot right in front of us and hit the side of the mountain.  Of course, we stopped to help.  Everyone was okay, however, I think one of the boys broke his glasses and lost a few teeth.  I remember telling the kid that I had a good orthodontist he could use.  I spent so much time with that orthodontist that it is amazing that my parents could still send me to college since my father paid for all of his kids to go to college.  And not just any college.  He paid for them to go to Harvard and Yale.  I just got to go to Florida State, however, now that I think about it that had nothing to do with money.  Could have been my grades.  To this day, nobody believes that story.  I told that story when I was 19 outside of a nightclub to a bunch of my friends who had just dropped a bunch of acid and apparently it sent them on the worst trip of their life.

My life would not be complete without having to make a trip to the hospital on vacation.  In my early 30's my parental units invited me to go to Chicago with them.  I was "rushing" on Rush Street during rush hour.  Literally.  I was walking really fast, because I was in a hurry to meet my parents for dinner.  I tripped and fell over a curb and there I went.  Of course everyone was gasping in horror, however, I picked myself up, exclaimed that I was okay and kept on going.  Once I reached the restaurant, I ordered 3 vodka concoctions and when that didn't work I had to go to the hospital/emergency room.  There is nothing like hobbling down Michigan Avenue at 1 a.m. to pick up your Vicodin prescription at the pharmacy.  When we left a few days later I decided to go to a nearby florist and pick out some flowers for myself to take on the airplane with me.  As I drug myself through the airport with a sling on one arm and a bouquet of flowers hanging out of the other my mother told me that I resembled a tore down homecoming queen/Elizabeth Taylor.  I am guessing that refusing to take off my newest pair of Christian Dior shades helped me achieve haggard and worn out celebrity status in my mother's eyes.  The plane ride home was the cake topper.  I had finished off my Vicodin the night before, because I needed something to ease the pain of my father's  incessant snoring.  I should have stomached the snoring, because I definitely couldn't stomach anything else the next day.  I kept puking in that bag on the plane and my mother told me I couldn't have anymore to eat.  She went even further by telling the airline attendant that I could not have anymore snacks.  What was I?  12?  This is precisely why I now agree with the person that said you should not vacate with your parents as an adult child.  In my mind I yanked her by the hair, grabbed her by the throat and drug her down the aisle while screaming that no matter what I would be puking so I might as well have something to puke up.  During a layover, my father grabbed a hot dog.  It wasn't just any hot dog.  It was smothered in onions.  I wanted to kill him and I almost did.  If looks could kill I would have received my inheritance a long time ago.  Once we were almost home, I told my parents I wanted to die.  At that point they were happy to oblige.  My mother said they could tie me to a tree in the back yard and shoot me.  She ended up feeding me salty crackers and ginger ale and put "Clueless" in the DVD player.  Somehow, that was the cure I needed.

It actually took me several years to get over that injury.  My doctor told me that at my age people are not meant to throw themselves down on the pavement in front of moving cars.  With another family vacation approaching, I am hoping and praying that I come back unscathed.  We are going to the mountains in Tennessee and taking a trip to Dollywood.  Since my 16 month old nephew is involved, apparently Dollywood is a test run for Disney World.  I can only hope that I will find a float so I can rest between Dolly's voluptuousness.  I have a feeling though that I will be walking away needing a vacation because I just had one.

Bad Decisions Make Good Stories

I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with shots of tequila than Kay.  Maybe Kay and Jack Daniels should hook up. This is precisely why I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.  I have the blurriest beer goggles ever.  I can think of many games of "slap and tickle" that I have played that I would like to shelve and accumulate so much dust that they disappear.

My quest to make a complete fool out of myself began in high school.  Two bottles of Boone's Farm all to myself every Friday night was enough to get any party started...The kind of party you would like to forget.  The kind of party that ended up with remnants of Krispy Kreme doughnuts all over your bedroom wall. My life would not have been complete if I had not carried the tradition on throughout college so I did. I carried it like an Olympic torch.  There were several nights where drinking was my name and fraternity houses were my game.  The night always began with a dance to the Garth Brooks classic, "Friends In Low Places" at a fraternity party.  The walk of shame the next day was a pretty low place, but a braggable right at the same time.

Most of us have absorbed way too many shots and made bad decisions on more than one occasion. It's always one of those nights when your pores are screaming at you to pour something strong and sticky into them. These bad decisions usually fester into some of the worst sexual experiences of your life. And you usually wake up with a mind bending headache which as it produces optical illusions you find yourself saying, "I think I have a tumor!" I actually I have one of those headaches right now, however, I did not seize the opportunity the make any bad decisions last night. I opted to have a major meltdown instead.  It wasn't my best work and it was hardly entertaining, but I needed the release.

Sure, there are some nights that I still drink like I am on Bourbon Street, however, I don't indulge in bad decisions anymore. How and Why?

How? As you age you gain wisdom and enough good credit to purchase that truckload of self-respect.

Why? I don't need anymore stories. I have far too many!

High School Skinny

"Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." ~ Kate Moss

It's like a recurring nightmare.  The refrigerator is calling your name and the rants are long and drawn out moans as if coming from the talking trees in The Wizard Of Oz.  You get up and open the door and that chocolate pie jumps out at you and hits you in the face.  It is like a pie throwing contest not in your favor.  It is gone within 5 minutes and as you are licking the whipped topping off your face you think about how epic the cigarette will be.

I never thought I would want to lose weight.  I was super thin well into my 20's.  I was a pencil thin teen model.  I didn't walk the runways in Paris and Milan, but I certainly wore out the carpet in the Mary Lou's Models office.  While I always knew I could handle putting on a few pounds, I didn't want to put on too much.  I was super stoked when I put on 20, but once I put on 40 I wasn't so thrilled and then there was 60 and then I was so not fond of the days when I drank weight gainer.

So here we have what has been my emotional food roller coaster for the last 6 months.

There is a skinny bitch inside of me and she is dying to get out.  She is pushing, kicking, screaming, etc. Every time I hear her blood curdling scream I feed her a cookie so she will shut up.  No more!  From now on she gets a tic-tac and a bottle of water.  Maybe she will have her choice between a tic-tac and a skittle if I am in a good mood.  BUT, under no circumstances is she to have a chewy spree, even if she has been on her best behavior.

Now that I have started to relinquish the pounds I am starting to feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders as well as the muffin off my waistline.  Now, when I eat a bland salad it tastes so much better, because I know I will look so much better in that garter belt. I will also be more comfortable during a night full of spontaneous activities like streaking while toilet papering houses.  Of course, if I am participating in that kind of random play that means that I am probably highly inebriated and I don't really care at that point.  Also, every time I am dying on the stair climber I just look for that light at the end of the tunnel.  I see "trophy wife" in bright lights and it gets me through my workout every time.

It's official!  I am about to give birth to this food and alcohol baby of mine and will be giving it up for adoption to anyone else who wants to feel undesirable for the time being.  Remember to take care of him/her and feed them plenty of bon bons.  Thanks!

Single Land: Welcome To The Garden Of You Can Do Whatever You Want When You Want. I Will Be Your Cruise Director.

"I apologize to you if I don't seem real eager to jump into a forced awkward intimate situation that people like to call dating. I don't like the feeling. You're sitting there, you're wondering do I have food on my face, am I eating, am I talking too much, are they talking enough, am I interested I'm not really interested, should I play like I'm interested but I'm not that interested but I think she might be interested but do I want to be interested but now she's not interested? So all of the sudden I'm getting, I'm starting to get interested... And when am I supposed to kiss her? Do I have to wait for the door cause then it's awkward, it's like well goodnight. Do you do like that ass-out hug? Where you like, you hug each other like this and your ass sticks out cause you're trying not to get too close or do you just go right in and kiss them on the lips or don't kiss them at all? It's very difficult trying to read the situation. And all the while you're just really wondering are we gonna get hopped up enough to make some bad decisions?"

- Jeremy Grey in Wedding Crashers

Recently, an inquiring mind asked me if I thought I could ever commit to one person...Forever (according to Prince, that's a mighty long time)?  Why on earth would somebody target me for a question like that?  Does my mere presence scream commitaphobe.  I am not a hooker.  Anyone who follows me on foursquare knows that I am frequently checking into bars and clothing boutiques and not street corners. Oh yeah, I am 38 and happily have never been married.  I am sure there is a very good reason for that, however, I have no idea what it is. I repeatedly say that I wouldn't mind settling down if the right guy found me, however, my actions speak louder than a stadium full of vuvuzelas.  I can admit that I have a tendency to kiss and run.  I push people away and we are not talking about a slight nudge.  I push people to the edge of a cliff and then kick them over the river and through the woods with no remorse.  Is it a proud moment every time I realize that I have left a cross country trail of broken hearts and spinning heads?  NO, but it is what it is.  To know me is to love me and I think people have a pretty good idea of what they are signing up for when signing on with me. 

Maybe, just maybe, I don't have the bride gene.  Maybe, the doctor ripped it out of my heart right after I was born.  Am I going to hunt the doctor down that delivered me and sue him for malpractice, as well as, rip his arms off, beat him to death with them and then shove them down his throat?  No.  I have caught many bouquets in my lifetime, when I was too young to know better.  Were they meant for me?  I don't know.  All I know is that I have a good catching arm.  These days I just ignore them and they usually end up hitting me in the head as I look away.  Want to talk about severe head trauma.  I am guessing the next one might possibly cause a seizure.

Everyone has been single at some point in their life.  Everyone has also been in some sort of crazy relationship as well.  While to many being in a relationship is a better situation to be in, unfortunately it takes two people to be in a relationship so until the right person is mail-ordered to you, you're just going to have to put up with being single.  However, I see the silver lining in being single.


So this is me...I reside in Single Land. A land where flirting is encouraged. A land where my money is my own and I can spend a week's salary in Vegas if the spirit moves me. A land in which I can leave my clothes anywhere I want which means that I don't have to pick up anyone else's.


Relationships are all about compromise, being single is all about doing what you want, when you want.
Sure, I would like somebody to split the mortgage with, but there are perks to being single.  I can get up out of bed and go spontaneously buy milk in the middle of the night without somebody wondering if I am cheating on them.  I can sit on the sofa and eat Cheese Whiz out of a can and watch hours of General Hospital on TIVO without being judged.  I don't have to deal with somebody promising to take me out to a nice dinner, falling asleep and then when they wake up the only restaurant open is the McDonalds drive-thru (I am still pissed off about that). I also don't have to wait in line for the bathroom.

Perhaps, I am just jaded and my experiences are holding me back. All of my knights in shining armor have turned out to be losers in aluminum foil and eventually I want to run them over in a parking lot and turn them into speed bumps.

I guess I better change my thought process, because a vibrator will not send you flowers on Valentine's Day or split the mortgage with you. In fact, vibrators drain batteries which drain your bank account! I am sure going to miss those late night booty calls via email. I know. WTF?!  I guess rotary phones will be making a comeback as well.

A Childhood Scattered, Smothered, Covered & Threatened By The GULF Oil Spill

Growing up, I wanted my father to listen to me a lot like my friends did. I wanted my mother to listen to me, because there was so much to tell and the pain was coming through. I wanted my boyfriend to listen because life was closing in from everywhere. As graduation approached, there was so little time to show we cared and to say the words that showed in out hearts.

The GULF oil spill has prompted me to reflect. As oil washes ashore and booms are planted behind the houses we grew up in, I reminisce of better times. Times that seemed pure. As a senior in high school, I went to go see "Stealing Home" with my dear friend Shannon (O'Brien) Heller. To this day, it reminds me of HOME.

As Katie waltzed up the pier (we are all so familiar with fishing piers) she exclaimed, "All they did was drag this poor horse up to this platform and they pushed him off into a cold tank of water. Everyone laughed and they clapped. They thought it was funny. I cried. I thought it was mean. Let's go. See, that's all I want to do Billy-Boy. I want to leap of this pier and fly high in the air and hang with the wind and drift through the clouds, and at night, with the moon full and the sea wild, I'd meet my lover high on a cliff and we'd swoop down into the ocean and swim all the way touch the bottom up through the dark water and break the surface. Then we'd fly to Jamaica for Pina Coladas...God, I wish I could do that."

With this tragedy, I wonder where the time went. It is as if it has left us here alone. I am looking in the mirror and instead of the world getting clearer it is getting cloudier. I can't believe it might be over. Those moments seemed like yesterday. My friends and I could not wait to be older...

The oil spill is changing our lives tomorrow. I wish we could go back to high school and live in forever so we can hold on to those moments that we made as we shared our dreams together. Those were the best days of our lives.

Even though we left and went our separate ways we will never fade away.

For my friends along the Gulf that I have shared these wonderful memories with, I am in you and you are in me.

I will always remember those bonfires at the "third parking lot" at Pensacola Beach drinking Strawberry Hill and listening to Hendrix, U2 and REM. AND, I can't forget incessantly breaking curfew. In the words of 80's sensation Dan Hartman, "I can dream about you if I can't hold you tonight."