After being out in the single at 40 world for almost two years, I have come to the conclusion that it is fucking scary as hell out there.

With few exceptions, men over 40 that are single are single for a reason. They are either gay, been burned and are bitter as fucking hell or are bat shit crazy.

I've yet to date a guy that wasn't at least two of the above.

Just about the time I became resigned to sleep with my teddy bear..simply because I know where he had been... an interesting thing happened.

I realized that Stinky Cheese Man wasn't all the bad comparitively speaking.

Yes sirree it is that bad out there.

Actually, to give credit where credit is due, SCM has been working on himself in order to attempt to win back my heart.

When he found Who Stole My Peanut Butter and 100 Reasons Why I Hate My Husband, he was furious and embarrassed. But to his credit, he also took a step back and had a good look at himself from my eyes. He didn't like what he saw.

Do I think people can change? Honestly, I really do not. But what I do believe is that they can alter their behavior and control their emotions even if they can not stop having them.

SCM has worked hard to do that and I must give credit where credit is due.

It isn't only that he tried to change...it is he tried to change for me and honestly, after all this time and still trying to win me back gets a perfect 10 on the sappy AAWWWW meter. He's got a great job he has held for a while, has saved a bunch of money, impressed me with the single dad thing and was always available to kill the big hairy bugs with a moments notice.

As shocking as it may seem, he also has realized that toothpaste and soap are our friend when we chain smoke two cartons a week.

I think the biggest wake up call is when I kept comparing others I was interested in to him. SCM would have remembered my birthday, SCM would have done with the dishes after I cooked, SCM would have told me I look great in these ratty shorts with my hair sticking up. SCM would have brought me coffee when he got himself a cup and so on and so on.

Is my marriage going to work this time? Well, if nothing else, I will have tons of new material for my blog and afterall, what could be more important than that?

This is Dane Cook.

This is Dane Cook being funny.

See, no difference.

The guy’s not funny. Not funny at all.

Not even mouth goes up with a hint of a smile funny.

However, the dude sells out where ever he performs.

He sold out Madison Square Fucking Garden for God’s sake.

So I got to thinking….whose asses were filling the 20,000 seats at the Garden? What demographic has the inability to distinguish funny from notsomuch funny?

I knew it couldn't’t be the baby boomers. We invented commentary stand up after having just about enough of the pies in the face and the one ringydingys of Laugh In.

Now seeing that I didn’t see many walkers or canes in the aisles, I had to surmise that it is the people under 30 that think this crack pot has talent.

Ignoring the fact that he is accused of stealing other people’s jokes…he obviously picked some bad ones, his stand up has no punchlines. They are just ramblings about…well about nothing that go nowhere.

True I grew up to comedic genius of Richard Pryor and Steve Martin. Later Robin Williams, Sam Kinison progressing into the likes of Lewis Black and Dave Chapelle.

Then this…this….I am sorry but I can’t call him a comedian..this guy comes along who lacks creativity, imagination and quite obviously a sense of humor.

My 19 year old son thinks he is hysterical. When I ask why, he is unable to explain it. When pressed he replied “I just can relate to things he says.”


“What? The one about kicking doors in for no particular reason or about how manipulative and stinging a woman can be with words. Can you tell me specifically what it is you “relate” to?”

“Mom, you just don’t get it.” Which is very true.

Perhaps you do and if you do, please take a minute to comment and explain it to me. I must be missing something.

Mr Cook on Work Relationships.

What The Fuck Was It?!

Everyone has their own little neurosis that they are forced to deal with in their daily lives. I happen to have more than most but the fact that most people can relate to at least one of them gives me the justification to avoid spending thousands on psychotherapy.

That being said, one particular...let's call it a quirk, is that I absolutely hate to use a toilet that hasn’t been flushed by the previous resident that had squatted on the throne. I also won’t leave the kids off at any pool that is not my own but that is neither here nor there. As a matter of fact, it is always here and never there.

But I digress.

Being that I refuse to plant my patookie on a bowl containing anything but clean water, I am inclined to look before setting my fat ass down.

Which is what I did last night in my own home.

I have never been quite so glad I had this particular habit until I took my usual quick glance in and saw something that seemed to move under the toilet seat.

I gasped, jumped back and what the fucked in that order.

Fortunately, I no longer had to go because I had peed my pants.

I took a deep breath and stepped back to see what could have crawled on my ass, up my ass or around my ass if I had not looked.

Shudder.

As I peered in, breath held, I saw that there was a fucking frog in my toilet.

Yes, you read that right. A frog.

Quickly a slammed the lid shut and rested my ass on my cushy toilet seat cover to prevent its escape.

Now I too have read that frogs can turn into princes with a kiss but I wasn’t the least bit interested in having Prince Charming anywhere near this particular throne at the moment not to mention where those lips have just been.

I racked my brain for some kind of solution to the problem.

Frog in the toilet….frog in the toilet…..frog in the toilet.

I had nuttin.

I didn’t want to try to flush it down…one it was a cute little froggy and two, I have heard they have enough problems just being green.

However, if I ever wanted to use the master bathroom bowl ever again, something would have to be done.

I have to say even the most annoying of men can come in handy for unexpected circumstances….like frogs perched under toilet seats. SCM being available quickly came to my aid.

As I bit my knuckle, he opened the lid like it was an every day occurrence. Apparently Kermit didn’t think so because he used all the strength in those little froggy hind legs to propel himself out of the toilet and onto the curtains across the room.

I screamed a scream that any director would have been proud to use in the worst of slasher movies.

SCM calmly went to the curtain,,picked the thing up bare fucking handed and walked it outside to live in peace and harmony in its little froggy world.

I plan to suffer from post traumatic stress syndrome for years to come.

What the FUCK was that in my toilet?!

Could it be in yours?

Check back Tuesday to find out.

Home Again

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig;

Home again, home again, dancing a jig.

To market, to market, to buy a fat hog;

Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.

It is great to be home.

I really hate being on a large ship where everyone is catering to my every need.

Who wouldn't?

Thank God I am back in my real life of dog shit carpets, unmade beds and kids asking what's for dinner.

Whew, I almost got used to that hell.

Mommy's Angry

I am the eldest of three children who are the product of your run in the mill dysfunctional family. Growing up we were three distinctly different individuals with distinctly different methods to torture our parents into submission.

To give you a brief example of the amount of insanity in my family, my brother recently informed my son that I was indeed the only one that turned out normal.

Yeah, enough said.

According to our birth certificates, we are all approaching middle aged. During my four decades of life, one would think I would stop letting the matriarch get to me.

However, I must give that gold star to my sister. She is amazing at dealing with Mother. Honestly, it is a site to behold. The woman can say the most hurtful and inconsiderate things and it will role off sis like the flab on Oprah's ass once a year.

While I am quite obviously clenching my teeth in order to prevent myself from arguing with the loon, sissy can turn it around get my mother joking about it and laughing.

I want to be just like her when I grow up.

Of course that isn't possible because I never plan to grow up.

As related here, today is another family gathering for a birthday. Actually, Mother is combining two birthdays in one which in itself means she is making some progress.

Of course the bitching has now been doubled.

It wouldn't be so bad if the bitching was directed at the people that are actually pissing her off. No, that would be mean, after all it is their birthday.

No, the rest of the family are subjected to the constant phone calls and the bitching. Somehow in the process of a phone call, she managed to piss me off.

Instead of taking Sissy's lead, I snapped back.

So now the other two have moved over to include moi on the shit list.

My only chance is to throw someone else under the bus to get the heat off myself.

I think Sis has been off the list far too long.

To Lie or Not to Lie

I am preparing to take my annual summer cruise next week. A quickie to a couple of islands in the Bahamas and back with only my daughter and I.

I am looking forward to the peace and quiet of reading and sunning while I shove the brat into whatever bullshit activities they have to keep her out of my hair.

Bless them.

While packing I stumbled across a book I was given as a gift. It is called "A Mother's Life" and I thought I would plan to finally complete it while on vacation.

So I flipped through it expecting basic shit like how happy were you when I was born and what was my first word.

Yeah....no.

The fucking thing want MY life story. I guess I should have paid better attention to the title of the thing, huh?

When was your first kiss?

I attacked a poor unsuspecting five year old in the cubbies in kindergarten. Come to think of it, the prick told on me.

What was your first job?

Selling joints for a dollar each in the cafeteria in Jr. High.

When did you and my father meet?

He was the best friend of the guy I really liked.

Describe your wedding day?

We did lines on the way to the reception where the family was taking bets on how long the marriage would last.

See, not something I particularly want to share with the little ones...even when I am dead.

On the other hand, maybe it will cause them to look back and say...gee, mom was one cool mutherfucker.

Naaaa, I think I will put this one in the regift section of the closet.

Off to check out your blogs. I hate not knowing what the kewl kids are up to.