Being Older is the Shit


Here’s the rant, Trent.
Ok, so it’s not as much  a ‘rant’ as it is just some mediocre random thoughts but rant makes a much more alluring submission.

Get yourself a glass of the mind-altering substance of your choice and enjoy. or not.

I’m older.
Than almost everyone in my weird little circle.  It’s actually more like some sort of a retarded hexagon than a circle.

Oooh it’s hard to write well with ‘Summer Lovin” playing on Pandora but I’m gonna push through it so I can get this out.

I used to be hot.  White trash, long red fake fingernails, bleached long blonde hair to my ass, cheap shortest skirts ever made and even cheaper stilletos with the NYC skyline on them, hot.
It’s all I thought I was and for most of my young life was more than fine with that. What I failed to realize was the quality of the men I was attracting.  Quantity seemed so much more important.  Truth is, the swarms of ‘men’ buzzing around my sweet little box were shallow, ignorant, boring, uneducated donkeys.  I was wrongly flattered.

I met a sexy, smart, fearless Jew who wasn’t (only) interested in my tight ass and lovely perky breasts. He liked me.  He babied me up and he married me.  Down on one fucking romantic knee married me.  Our kid is so god damn lovely and perfect, she keeps us off building ledges most days.

I cut my Jolene bleached hair and haven’t polished my finger nails in 12 dog years and although you may have to squint to see it, I like myself more than I ever have.  OF COURSE I miss my size seven jeans and slender-regular sized tampons but I don’t miss my lack of self-esteem leading to way too many undeserved blow jobs.  You’re welcome Class of ’81.


Being older can be so awesome if you can overcome the not so perky tits and get comfortable with guys not falling over themselves to get a piece of your beautiful little vagina.

I have found that one of the most important and attractive qualities in a person is their intellect and sense of humor (conceit noted).
When you are in your 20’s, you don’t have much of a clue who you are.  For the longest time I thought I was an eggplant and not even a ripe one.

It’s much more challenging to be self-deprecating and funny when you’re younger.  What are you going to say “Don’t you hate when your ass is so perfect and you’re skin is like porcelain?  Doesn’t it suck that I have zero responsibilities and no gray hair?”

Back fat.  Back fat is hilarious.  Cellulite even more so.  Bad eyesight, hard of hearing – funny.

Best feeling in the world…people coming to you for your infinite wisdom ’cause chances are you’ve been there and they know it. I’ve lost so much judgement for most people (I still hold judgment for people who say Valentime’s Day). Yes I just spelled judgment 2 different ways because I’m tired of looking it up and I’m pretty sure they’re both correct.  Unless you hit your kids or drink boxed wine, you are always invited to share my booth.  And the hitting your kids thing is situation dependent.  The boxed wine, however, is not.

Honestly, who would you rather spend an hour with? Meryl Streep or Mila Kunis? John Goodman or Robert Pattinson?

This. should be interesting.


FB & the Stupid Big Fat Tits/Client Stories


I’m fairly competent at problem solving.  I think it’s a mom thing.  You always have to be ‘on’ because you never know what’s around the corner.  That’s why moms have pocketbooks that would challenge Monty Hall.  I carry Starbuck’s instant coffee, raw brown sugar, ginger tea, Emergen-C, xanax, tylenol, hand sanitizer, tissues and band-aids. That’s just in one pocket.  The other pockets hold weapons and clean underwear.

Point please.

I had a client last night who took me to my last nerve.  I honestly didn’t know what to do.  Pretending to be deaf and/or claiming English as my second language were options considered.

Lots of fucking idiots come in soon after they get breast implants and explain that it hurts to lay face down on the table knowing more than damn well they will, at some point, be asked to lay face down on the table.
Yes, I can work on them side-lying.  Yes, I can work on them face-up; however, this girl wanted me to go really deep on her back without pressing on her back.
She knew what she was asking and even after witnessing the confusion on my face showed no concern at all.  It was clear it would be my fault if this wasn’t achieved somehow.  It was like asking someone to bake a cake without ingredients. Or a pan.

So I baked the shit out of that cake.  While she had the drape over her eyes, I ran out of the room and asked someone to grab me a medium towel that I could roll up and place under her shoulders so she could lie face down taking pressure off of her stupid big fat tits and I elbowed the fucking fuck out of her lower back.  Anger unleashed.

I actually owned pride for about 2 minutes.  I was almost finished with the massage when she said – again – could you work on my upper back deep without pressing hard on my back?

Good luck finding her body.