Dear Joe...

•More than once this week Ive heard (from men) the following: “Man, you need somebody to get him off your mind.” Or any other variation of that. I.E. -- “you just need some dick” Or, -- “ma, come hang out tonight. I’ll make you forget all about that dude.” I’m not sure why men think their penis is magical. Or somehow has healing powers that Native American Shaman would be envious of. Like my girl Tori Amos puts it, “So you can make me cum. That doesn’t make you Jesus.” Even my female friends have become extreme activists of the “Best way to get over someone, is to get under someone new” campaign. I just can’t possibly do it. Oh. I mean. I’ve done it. And done it well might I add. You dump me, and I can not ONLY rebound with someone richer, smarter, better looking, better sex, better life. BUT because I’m all angsty and bitter and anti-men, I’m usually at my BEST during these rebound relationships….if THE REBOUND was the second act of a play, I’d steal the spotlight. All in an e...

There I stood. Lost in a sea of button down shirts, with bedazzled crosses on the back, and dresses that I swear my 6 year old couldn’t even smuggle her goodies into. I was in the heart of Jersey. The deep down dirty beat thumping dance floor at Mur Mur in Atlantic City. My vision was blurry from the fog machine and the blinking “hey lets fuck with the high people” strobe lights. My nose irritated from the smell of Axe body spray and that unmistakable stench of attention whoreness. To the left of me was a very inebriated man, with an iphone, and a screen shot of him with The Situation. Apparently he was on one of the episodes of the Jersey Shore. This was his pick up line by the way. There was no “can I buy you a drink.” No, “my name is John. Or Mikey. Or whatever.” No. His line was “Hey do you watch the Jersey Shore?” (thrusts screen shot in my face) “Boom!! That’s me and The Situation.” This is your greatest achievement in life? This is what you’re leading with? Sir. Sir. Sir. Sit do...

Relationships are like a novel by your favorite author. You know their writing style. You like them. You’re instantly attracted to the cover. To the story. You start out fresh on the crisp first page…all with interest and intrigue and your 100% undivided attention. Glass of wine. Even turning off the TV to sit down and read. Just you and your book. You carry it around in your purse with love and honor. And then around page…26ish…you start to get a little bored. Your attention begins to drift. You sometimes forget to even pick the book up. It just lays neglected on the coffee table while you watch some brainless reality show. So then you loose your page. You try to figure out where you left off…skipping boring passages…skipping whole chapters altogether…just to “hurry up and get to the end.” You get to read all about your characters action packed adventures. All the fluffy sex scenes. All the violent fights. All the drama. But you never really connected with who that character was….bec...

Inspired by a recent trip to the park, where I ran across a woman named Pam, I thought to myself…how much of our names really define who we become in life? For example. Quintessential trailer park names. ::I always felt sorry for women named Pam. They all seem to have that hard living struggle face. All worn out and dried up by Marlboros and domestic violence. See Also: Carol. Loretta. Leann. Beth. Maggie. Eats a Big Mac in a parking lot and washes it down with a Diet Coke names. ::Claire. Dorris. Donna. Shelby. Brenda. Lois. But mainly Nancy. I have never met anyone named Nancy that was less 345lbs. Anyone named Nancy looks like they can push Ford Explorers down pot-hole streets with one hand, and washes down Ham and Cheese sandwiches with a water bottle full of melted butter. Will have sex with your boyfriend in the bathroom while you’re all out to dinner names: ::Ashley. Lindsay. Becca. Angel. Nikki. Tasha. Lexi. Anyone named after a car, or a liquor. Extra points if its spelled “in...

People who need to be waterboarded I. The overly happy co-worker who asks “how you weekend was” with a huge grin first thing Monday morning, as you stumble towards the coffee maker. B*tch is my cup empty? Is it 8am? Fall all the way back. How are these people waking up so happy? Sex? Burbon? Anti-depressants? I need answers white America. II. People who answer the phone “yellow” without being the least bit ironic. Like, they seriously answer the phone that way. Because, that’s how they talk. III. People who pull out in front of you, and then proceed to go 36 mph. Are you kidding me Tokyo Drift? You were all in a hurry to cut me off and now you’re not even GOING the speed limit? IV. Keeping on the subject of asshole drivers, people that pass you by going 186 mph only to have to slam on their brakes at the SAME red light you are at. Again, I ask, really sir? This is not the Indy 500. This is a small highway in a suburbs with red lights. Calm it down. V. People named Mercedes. Porcha. ...

Theres no such thing as a dumb question. Only annoying, pointless, usually slurred next to me while standing at a bar waiting for a drink questions. So. I thought I’d go ahead and answer them now. Please bookmark this blog in case you ever meet me one day and I walk away from you smiling with none of your questions answered. 1. What are you? A woman. Pretty complicated. Some daddy issues I would imagine. Music enthusiast. Obsessed with fashion. Oh? You meant my RACE? Well if you want to know my RACE then ask me what my ethnic background is. Or just my ethnicity. Or something creative, like “you have a very exotic look, I cant quite figure out what race you are.” NOT “yo what are you.” See Also: “you whatchu mixed wit cuz I know you aint white.” 2. What do you do for fun? Spelunking. Dumpster diving. Drive-bys. I mean really? Could that question be any broader? Ole generic just sayin shit to hear yourself speak ass. Put some creativity into it! 3. Why are you still single? Im appar...

I thought id blog today in honor of Steak and a Blow Job day. The official “men’s” holiday. Well, let me rephrase that, I “thought” id be participating in the festivities of today, but since I am not, I’m blogging. There’s much talk as to how all you need to do to keep a man happy is to keep him “full and fucked”. My mother and father have been married 30 years, and every single night he comes home to a hot meal (yes my mom works). I imagine its been that way since they met. They also still enjoy an active sex life (don’t ask. Lets just say, the day you find out your mom is a “screamer” is a day you’ll spend the rest of your life drinking to try and forget) From friends, to family members, to relationship “experts”, to men themselves, theres a big emphasis put on being skilled in the bedroom and kitchen. Since I was 18 years old I’ve been trying to excel at both. Consistently going into each new relationship with an arsenal of recipe’s and porn, I am bright eyed and willing to please t...