The Modern Teenager’s Guide To Pissing Off Your Parents

Dear Children,

Pretty soon you will be teenagers. This is a time when, for some reason unfathomable to yourself, but more than likely due to an overwhelming amount of hormones coupled with an enormous lack of reason, you will want to rebel against your parents. Well, I have to tell you, it’s not going to be easy.

I mean, you could listen to really loud obnoxious rock music, but don’t mom and dad listen to that music themselves? You could dress inappropriately, but have you taken a look at mom’s hemlines on those mini skirts? I think that passed appropriate about 5 inches ago. And I somehow think all things proper and suitable took a two step out of dad’s closet when they got a look at that Venom shirt with the naked nun and the quote about Satan’s vomit. And remember that long haired, Catholic guy with the tattoos that wanted to make a living as a rock star that mom brought home to her Jewish parents? Well now he’s your dad. There is the occasional experimentation but, yep, been there, done that, and I wonder if the fact that marijuana is practically legal has somehow robbed the old wacky tobacky of some of it’s allure.

Well kids, other than eating the odd polyunsaturated fat every now and then, I came up with two things you could do to piss off the old parental units, but I must warn you that they are so heinous, so atrocious, they may well get you kicked out their house forever; and above all shhhh….don’t tell them I told you so!

1.Become a homophobic Republican

2. Listen to Justin Beiber
– A Concerned Adult
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Couples Therapy

There are certain realities you need to accept in order to make a relationship work. The first one was passed down to me by my dear old grandmother and I have always thought it to be true: “Men and women are natural enemies”. After 12 years of marriage I think I can embellish on this with my own offering, “All men are stupid and all women are crazy”.

Now of course I know all men aren’t really stupid. There are plenty of men who run successful companies, solve complicated algebraic equations, and can teach Albert Einstein a thing or two about the Theories of Relativity. But show me a man who can coordinate a shopping list for his family that is both healthy and economical, successfully acquire every item on that list and put it away in it’s proper cabinet. Show me a man who can do the laundry without shoving one of your dresses in a drawer and putting your daughter’s panties in with your underwear. Show me a man who always thinks before he let’s an insensitive comment come out of his mouth. Show me that man because my Aunt Lydia has a son that’s single…(not that there’s anything wrong with that.)
Women, on the other hand, can be considered volatile, short tempered and fickle. Of course this is all par for the course when she has just worked all day, taken care of the family, and now she can’t find the mayonnaise, has to resort the laundry, not to mention that her husband just told her that on second thought those jeans actually do make her hips look kind of wide.
Okay, so after writing this blog, I realize I have been somewhat unfair to the opposite sex. After all, I have somewhat justified a woman’s insanity as they are her reactions to her partner’s behavior, (although, to be fair these reactions may include chasing said partner with the kitchen knife or breaking the glass coffee table in the living room (ooooh….so specific…do you think I’ve ever??)) while I haven’t justified a man’s stupidity whatsoever!
But the truth is, all this makes perfect sense when you consider two more facts you need to accept to ensure happiness.1)  The woman is always right. 2) In order for a relationship to be successful, a man must be completely, utterly  and unequivocally scared to death of his wife.
Free of charge…Your welcome!

Guidelines To Being A Slut

For too long I have been on a rant about schooling, and though it’s been fun and will probably continue later in the week, I feel the need to get a bit naughty, to get back in touch with my roots, to let my hair down, a veritable cleansing of the palate if you will.

I think it’s time to holla to some of the young girls out there and let them know, it’s okay to be slutty. In fact, this blog is inspired from conversations I’ve had with other housewives about my past, and I can’t help but thinking the good girls missed out. And as a matter of fact being a slut can be a liberating and feminist experience.
Okay, so first you might need to get some slutty girlfriends over but if you don’t have any, it’s okay. Sometimes going out alone can be very alluring as well.
Now reach back in the closet for that dress you bought but never thought you’d wear because it’s too short, somewhat see through, the cleavage is too low, or whatever wardrobe malfunction is waiting to happen, and put it on. Now I need to advise you DO NOT take your favorite pair of leggings and pull them down below your waistline. DO NOT take your favorite shirt and put the bottom through the collar until your form some deranged sort of bra top. That is just skanky and desperate. You need to have the slutty clothing in advance and if you don’t, you might need to go on a shopping trip to Hollywood Blvd or somewhere as delightfully inappropriate in your home town.
Okay, now put on the high heels, you know the ones that are really too uncomfortable to walk in and that you totally regret buying because you never wear them. Well, here’s your chance. By the way, you may need some practice walking in them. But if all else fails, get some of those slutty friends to prop you up on either side. It’ll be adorable.
So what time is it now? 8 o clock. Okay, you need to get comfortable because your not going anywhere till at least 11. It’s best to show up just when everyone is drunk enough to have fun and mingle but not so drunk that they’ve given up all hope of getting laid and are now too far gone to do so, and are probably throwing up in the bathroom.
You’re at the club now, right? Preferably it’s a rock n’ roll dive with lots of loud, sleezy music but if it happens to be a rave or something equally hideous, just adapt. It’s very unattractive to whine and decidedly not slutty so just have another drink.
Set your sights on that guy. You know, the one with the greasy hair and the dirty jeans? The one with his hair hanging down in his face ever so slightly? Find a reason to talk to him. If he takes your lead and you hook up, great. Otherwise, spend the rest of the night ignoring him. The trap has been sent. Move on to someone else, ideally one of his friends.The fact that you hooked up with his friend will not make him think you are unavailable, it will only make you more enticing.
Now if you do end up hooking up, try to make it at their place. This leaves you to make your escape quickly. As a matter of fact, if you can split in the middle of the night while they are sleeping, kudos to you. Either way, never overstay your welcome. It reeks of desperation. Besides, who wants some smelly hung over guy romping around the apartment and making a nuisance of himself at 10 in the morning? Also, never volunteer your phone number and if they give your their phone number dispose of it immediately. If you are interested in seeing them again, strategically plant yourself at the club the next time you think they will be there. Or better yet,  maybe this time you can hook up with the guy with the greasy hair.

Neil Elterman Was…

Neil Elterman was my first boyfriend when I was in 6th grade. Neil Elterman was the first boy I smoked pot with, Neil Elterman was the first boy I listened to Metallica with, Neil Elterman was the first boy who broke my heart. And, as you can imagine, at 12 years old, there were a lot of other firsts (but no, not that one).

Neil Elterman had a cultivating personality. He was the leader of a group of five heavy metal mischief makers called the Dirtbags. Everyday Neil would act as ringleader to see what kind of trouble he could get them into that day, and you can only imagine the antics he would come up with.
Neil Elterman played games with me, games that men play. I didn’t even understand it at the time, but I would later, after dating so many other men. I could only wonder how he knew to do that at such a young age, how to be a bad boy.
Neil Elterman’s mother was sick. She was older than most of the other mothers and she had cancer. Much of Neil’s life was centered around a family who were constantly caring for her. His older sister did the best she could, but I suppose there was only so much she could do.
I remember when Neil’s friend told me she died…
Neil Elterman was smart. He was precocious. He was a leader. He could have been anything he wanted to be.
I didn’t know until I posted a picture of him on my Facebook page and someone wrote RIP next to his name. I googled him but came up with nothing, no memory, no memorial, no obituary, nothing. I finally worked up the nerve to ask a friend of mine.
Neil Elterman was a drug addict. Neil Elterman was a casualty. I’m sure he thought it was very impressive at the time. I’m sure he thought he was being innovative and glamorous. I wonder how he would have felt if he knew that he would be nothing, not even a link on the internet, just nothing.

I’m Breaking Up With You Because

Recently, I was inspired by a blog written by favorite new blogger The Office In Betweener. (If you haven’t read his blog you really should). He said he was trying to follow a blog written by a woman who was trying to go on 30 dates by the time she was 30 and blogging about them.

This does seem like an interesting premise for a blog and it made me reflect on the many, many dates I went on when I was younger. However, being on the rock n’ roll dating scene, they weren’t so much dates as a series of glorified booty calls. Still, my experiences prepared me a virtual pupu platter of men which I sampled without the complications of a full on relationship.

The problem, or maybe not the problem, but one of the desired outcomes, is that these relationships often fizzle out rather than coming to an ugly ending in which you tell each other how you really feel.  However, sometimes I wish I could tell them what idiots (cute idiots, but idiots nonetheless) they appeared to be at various times. So here I go, vicariously making fools of all of them in open Dear John letters. I will change the names to protect the innocent.

Dear Eddie,

Because you have a mommy complex, because it is not cute to put the adjective ‘Little’ before your name when we all know you are about 5 years older than most of the people in the club, and because 5’2 is definitely too short for a man.

Dear Jamie,

Because I really can’t be with a guy who can’t tear himself away from a mirror, who takes longer to get ready in the morning then I do, who may be gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that) and if not missed a really good opportunity, and, oh yeah, who has a very obvious nose job.

Dear Marc,

Because you really need to get a car. I simply can’t be driving you home every time after we hook up. Also, the glam heavy metal thing is kind of getting old. I suggest you update your look and seriously look into a day job. You’re really getting a bit long in the tooth for all this.

Dear Tracy,

Because you didn’t take your shirt off when we…you know, but I could still see that your quite overweight. Because you made funny noises when you…you know, and just because you had somewhat of a career back in the 90s, your really not all that.

Dear  Kurt,

Because the 90s are calling and they want their dread locks back. Because you blasted rap music at top volume in the car when we were driving home (and not even cool, rock type rap). Because you live way out in the valley and think it’s cool. Because I don’t like the fact that your huge dog sleeps in the bed. And, oh yeah, because you’re a stupid idiot!!

Thanks. I feel much better now!!