Monthly Archives: November 2016

Six Sexy Single Mom Pick-Up Lines

Hey single moms, let’s do this!  We’re all gonna get back out there and get some hot dates for the holidays.   Why not? Life is short!  Get ready to scoop up some top notch fellows with these amazing lines.

Note: I haven’t tested any of these, so I cannot guarantee their effectiveness.

1. Do not send me a dick pic!  OK, so this is more of a warning than a pick-up line, but I said the word “dick” so 87% of men will register it as a pick-up line.  Seriously, men, do not text a single mom a picture of your penis.   Our children sometimes use our phones. We do not want them ogling random peni.  And nobody really wants to see a photo of your penis, anyway. Unless it’s wearing a glasses or a jaunty hat, but even then e-mail it, don’t text! I’d probably still never want to see it in person, but I’d appreciate the whimsy.

2. Wanna see my C-section scar?  Too bold? Possibly.  Also, to be honest, I’m never showing anyone my C-section scar. I like the audacity of saying it, but it just seems weird and mood-killing in practice. My mouth would be writing a check that my brain and body did not intend to cash.  I’m going to put this one in my back pocket. I will never take it out.

3. I’m not gonna pop a melatonin until after  9:30 if you wanna hang out.  Now this one is more my speed.  Just vague enough that there’s possibility, but I’ve made no promises. Except for the promise to myself of a good night’s sleep.

4. Do you like muffins?  How about muffin tops?   Oh that one is gold!  Definitely going to use it.

5. Get in the van!  There’s lots of room in my van and I think the seats may recline.  And it’s got a dvd player! It’s practically a Holiday Inn Express on wheels.  Sexy, amirite?  Should I throw in something along the lines of “If the van’s a rockin’, don’t come knockin’” or is that excessive?  I’m all about subtlety.

6. I just opened a box of wine…. Yep.  Enough said.

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I h8 the way u text

On the first iteration of Gorgeous and Sassy we had a section called “Rants” where we’d post our complaints and pet peeves for the whole internet to read and then correct itself accordingly.  I believe I wrote a rant about a similar subject in the early aughts, and things have become exponentially more horrible, so clearly nobody listened. At that point I was mainly complaining about creative spelling and grammar in email. But I loved email as a form of communication. People thought about things before they spouted them off and wrote in actual sentences that mostly made sense. They punctuated! It was like letters, but faster. Bad spelling in email was pure laziness, because of spell check. It was a glorious time. Possibly a golden era of communication for me. I still have a few sexy/romantic emails that old boyfriends wrote to me and it is fun to go back and reminisce about the more literate men of my past. And I’m totally going to publish that shit if any one of them gets famous or runs for political office. Now that many people do the bulk of their communicating by text, creative spelling is eye-burningly common and laziness is OUT OF CONTROL.

At first I hated the whole concept of texting, because I’m an introvert and texting felt like somebody was rudely interrupting me and demanding my immediate attention, then coercing me into a usually uninteresting and unsatisfying conversation, riddled with weird abbreviations. Hateful. And frankly, it still can feel like that. But I came around when I realized that it would practically excuse me from ever having to talk on the phone, which I often hate and try to avoid whenever possible. These days I don’t enjoy it when people call me on the damn phone when that they should know that thing is for texting. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. Spoiler alert: It is unlikely that I will call.

The point of this rant is that I HATE the abbreviations/funny spelling that people tend to use when they text.  For example “u” for  you.  U should never, ever do this. U are not the real Prince. He is dead and u are an asshole. Or how about “k” for OK? I mean, sweet Jesus, are you the laziest person in the world? It’s just one more fucking letter. And it’s a nice round one. Use it.

I don’t like creative spellings like “tonite” for tonight or “wat” for what, because really? How much time did that save you? Was it worth making me vomit in my mouth? Also, when you add 50 emojis to the text, it defeats the purpose of all of your stupid abbreviations.  I don’t even hate emojis, I just hate too many of them. Unless it’s the poop emoji, then by all means add 50 of them. I get it. Or all of the cocktails. Totally understandable. I will never complain about the cocktails, as I too want them all.

I used to hate LOL. I’m still not wild about it, because it’s disingenuous. You are not laughing out loud. You may have chuckled, but come on. You didn’t really LOL. You didn’t. And if you are ROFL(Y)AO, I am going to call a medic. Because I think that’s called a seizure, my friend.

Now that I’m single, I’ve made a mental note to never get into a drunken make-out session with a bad texter. Once you send me a bad text, you’re in the no make-out zone. And that is truly your loss, because I am an excellent drunken make-out partner. I never lead with the tongue and I always carry Altoids. Just saying. And I’m sure you’re not just losing the super sexy chance of making out with me, bad texters (although it may be the most tragic consequence). Your stupid texts are probably causing you to miss out on all kinds of other great things, because your text is like a smack to the eyeballs and that is very unappealing. Or maybe it’s just me. That isn’t impossible. I’m twice divorced, so clearly I am difficult.  But you know what? I’m glad I said it and I stand by it! Down with horrible texting language! At least in your texts to me.  Can we just agree to that?  Please?

On a positive (and hypocritical) note I absolutely adore Bitmojis. I know I probably shouldn’t admit to it after all of the bitching I just did, but they are delightful!  Some of my dearest friends (like Shakira) and I communicate almost exclusively through Bitmojis and they are always a whimsical joy.  Especially the unicorn that farts a rainbow. Honestly, that one says it all for me.  I may never need to send anything else.

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Lady Killer: Review/Recap of a Lifetime Movie

From 4.03.2003

Gigi and Shakira are on the couch at Shakira’s Purple Palace. Drinks have been poured and are being sipped daintily. Ha, just kidding, we’re gulping them down! We’re ready to watch this movie so that you don’t have to. Here goes:

The movie opens with what sounds like porn music, but with trepidation. We can already tell this is gonna be good. We see Jack Wagner, former soap star and crush of a teenage Gigi. My, he’s been working out since his days on Melrose. We find out that Jack, who is either an architect or a doctor (unclear) has been having a torrid affair with Judith, who’s married and sporting an extremely ugly mushroom-shaped hairdo. It’s like a shroomy Pacey pompadour. Not that we watch Dawson’s Creek. Oh wait, we totally do.

Jack loves the more mature ladies. He relates the story of his first sexcapade: seduced by his mother’s best friend, when he was seventeen. Oh, Jack, you stud. Judith is loving the attentions of the young and randy Jack. “I feel alive again!” her voiceover tells us. “His long fingers turned out to be a very good omen.” Some girls have all the luck! But Judith is married and alas, she must spend her birthday with her boring husband instead of in a hot tub all weekend with her lover. Jack writes a her a note saying that he understands, but he’ll miss her. Signed with a “frowny face.” First indicator that this guy’s a psycho.

Judith and her husband have it out. “You make me feel like a wife!” she tells him. Oh the humanity. She wants him to “unlock her secret door.” Is that in her pants? ‘Cause Jack done stole the key. Her hubby valiantly “unlocks” all weekend long. Judith decides she loves him again and resolves to end her affair. Hey, the girl just needed some “cozy warm sex.” Ugh, why does that sound unappealing? And we’re sorry, but was it chilly in the tub with Jack?

She and Jack take a walk in the park and she borrows George Costanza’s speech: “It’s not you, it’s me.” Jack squints in confusion. Squinting is really Jack’s forte. He has the Happy Squint, The Pissed-Off Squint, and our favorite: The Squint of Sexual Prowess. That squint prompted Gigi to write a fan letter to Jack when she was thirteen. On jungle-print paper misted with Love’s Baby Soft. No response. Bastard.

Shakira thinks it would be hilarious if Jack yelled, “Who’s the Boss, Judith? I’m the boss!” in sort of a meta-tv moment. Tony Danza could come by and heroically scoop Judith up in his van. But no. Instead, Jack just squints some more while Judith walks away. And his hair has the gelled “wet look.” Gross. It’s either wet or crunchy to the touch and neither choice is good. No wonder Judith dumped you, Jack.

Judith goes to her volunteer job giving tours at the planetarium. Whee. That sounds fascinating. She has to wear a hideous polyester uniform in Nancy Reagan red. Surprise surprise, Jack shows up and he’s hoppin’ mad! The squint is out of control. Take cover, Judith! She foolishly runs right back into the planetarium while the one security guard is busy flirting with planetarium-hoochies. Some girls just love astronomy. Jack is in hot pursuit and tackles her. Whoa!! This has gone south quickly. Luckily the attempted rape is finally interrupted by the security guard. Jack flees.

Now Judith is in the hospital. Tracey Gold arrives on the scene, much to our delight. She’s Judith’s daughter. Wow, this movie just keeps getting better. It may be a coincidence that we’re on our second bottle of wine. Tracey vows to help her mother through this drama, but first she has to go to the bathroom. Lo and behold, who works at this very same hospital? Our favorite plastic surgeon/architect Jack! He directs Tracey to the bathroom. Later he’ll be directing her to his bedroom. Ewwww.

Judith and her husband head off to the Frozen Tundra for some R & R. Where the hell are they? Who vacations in Siberia? Judith has ditched the mushroom ‘do in favor of a sexy, feathered Kip Winger style. Uh, Judith, the 80s called… She stares forlornly at the lighthouse. Phallic symbol anyone? Meanwhile, Jack is ferociously rowing. Is he rowing to the Tundra in search of Judith? He will not be deterred from his true love! Huh, Gigi’s stalkers usually give up if there’s rowing involved. So lazy.

In a shocking turn of events, Tracey brings her boyfriend to meet her parents at the Tundra Vacation Home. Well, well, lookie here: it’s Jack, squinting smugly like a guy who bagged both a mother and daughter. EWWWWW! He’s wearing a hideous Cosby sweater. Judith looks horrified but manages to hide her revulsion. She could always use the sweater as an excuse. It’s making us nauseous.

Jack won’t stop squinting and smirking as he fondles Tracey at the dinner table. Ew. Later, Judith stands outside their bedroom door and hears giggles and groans. And grunts. Judith, that’s disgusting! Get away from the door! Please! Jack hops out of bed for a bathroom break (please be getting a condom for Tracey’s sake!) and runs into Judith. She tells him to stay the hell away from Tracey. Uh, Judith, that ship may have sailed…

He informs her smarmily, “You’re much better in bed than your daughter.” Jack is a sweet-talking devil. How can that not win her over? Judith responds by slapping his squinty face. Jack squints in shock. Well that’s a new squint. He has such range.

The next day Jack and his lover’s dad/former lover’s husband go out hunting. This is a terrible idea! How stupid are these people? Judith immediately begins covering the furniture with sheets. What the hell? Is this some Tundra custom for the removal of unwanted guests?

Naturally, Jack almost immediately shoots Daddy/Hubby and zips back over to the Tundra Vacation Home on the snowmobile. Tracey is conveniently out shopping. At the Tundra-Mart? Where did she go? Not important. Jack starts enthusiastically putting the mack down on Judith, trying to woo her with sweet nothings about her dead husband. God, this guy’s so smooth. Tracey interrupts them and is shocked to see her boyfriend pawing her mom. Years of therapy for Tracey.

Judith proclaims her innocence, but also confesses to the affair. At first, Tracey isn’t having any of it, but then suddenly out of nowhere she changes her mind. Maybe the middle of that scene is on the cutting room floor? What the hell? We don’t know. She jumps on the snowmobile and tears off in search of her dad.

Meanwhile, Judith runs for her life, towards the big penile lighthouse. That seems sensible. Oh God, Jack is chasing her up the lighthouse. That’s naughty symbolism, right? Running up a big penis and breathing heavily? Wait, we’re drunk.

Anyway. Running. Penis Lighthouse. Panting. A scuffle. Confusion (us). Drunkenness (also us). Somehow Jack is hanging off the edge of the roof and Tracey has reappeared and is also climbing the lighthouse with Jack. Interesting? We can’t tell anymore. Judith crushes the long fingers that once gave her so much pleasure and Jack falls from the lighthouse to land onto the Tundra like a psychotic little snow angel. Oh Jack, your erection was your destruction! This may be the message of most Lifetime movies. Roll credits.

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Birthday Half Marathon

Pre-dawn wake up in a downtown Houston hotel with my sister - We actually feel good, because we drank too much and stayed up too late two nights ago, so we were tired enough to get a really good night’s sleep pre-race. We might be geniuses!

Starting Line - We take a “Before” photo. There probably won’t be an after photo, because nobody wants to see a picture of extremely sweaty people who may or may not have just barfed. I’m happy that it is overcast and fairly cool out. Before the air horn goes off, signifying the race’s beginning, my sister muses, “There were probably other ways we could have celebrated your birthday. Maybe a spa or a cruise?” Hmmm….  (Blaaaaaaarrrrrr!) That was the horn.  It’s too late to turn back now.  Better start running, so we can get to post-race drinking.

Mile 1 - Ugh…12 miles to go. This might have been a dumb idea. At least there are a lot of people in Halloween costumes. Maybe this will make it seem more like a festive celebration than hours of grueling exercise? Lots of dinosaurs and Pokemons to keep me entertained. If I do this again, I should dress as a doughnut.

Mile 2 - Hey, I feel great! Wow, I am an amazing athlete! Why did I think this was a bad idea? This was my best idea. I could do this forever! Only 11 miles left! I feel like I’m running like a gazelle, but I suspect I’m more like one of those miniature horses.  Kind of ambling and clompy.  I’m the Little Sebastian of road races.

Mile 3 - Feeling ok. What a great playlist! So happy I had all of my friends suggest songs. Each song makes me think of a fun time with the friend who suggested it and that is making me happy. Also, I should listen to Don’t Stop Believing once an hour, every hour. I will never stop believing! Never!!!

Mile 4 - Eastbound and Down is a really great running song. It’s also a great road trip song. It’s just a great song. Smokey and the Bandit is a great movie. Really anything with Burt Reynolds is gold, because he is a national treasure.  I need to write him a fan letter as soon as I finish running.

Mile 5 - Do I have to pee? No. Maybe? So many cons to peeing. I will lose time, the porta-potties are disgusting, etc. etc. I can hold it. Right?

Mile 6 - Ugh, porta-potty break. So gross. Stupid bladder.

Mile 7 - I need more Benny Hill style music on my playlist! That would be fun to run to. You know what would be a great race? One where “pervy uncle” types in tighty whities jumped out at you from bushes and chased you with a feather duster to a Benny Hill music soundtrack. I would run so fast! They do zombie races, why not something like this? Could this be my million dollar idea?

Mile 8 - Starting to get tired. Maybe I can motivate myself by thinking of what I will eat and drink after the race. Waffles, tacos, Bloody Marys, margaritas….yes, this is totally working! I will eat all the things! I will drink mucho booze! It’s my birthday and I will celebrate. After I run for another 45 minutes or so. Ugh.

Mile 9 - Um, is that a guy in a button down shirt and NO PANTS hanging out at the edge of the park and staring at the runners with a creepy smile on his face? You don’t see that every day. Did I actually tell someone my Pervy Uncle Race idea? Did I transmit it to the universe and now it is manifesting? I don’t think it is a million dollar idea now that I’ve seen a pantsless creeper while running. “Did you get me a birthday stripper?” I ask my sister. “Please, I know you would have wanted a sexy cop,” she replies. We see a couple of actual cops heading his way. Fun!

Mile 10 - OK, only three miles to go. That’s a 5K and I have run multiple 5Ks. Easy. I see a woman holding a sign that says “Your feet hurt because you are kicking ass!” Clearly, I am kicking tons of ass.  I’m going to eat a few of these sport jelly beans. Maybe they are magic beans and I will float my way to the finish line.

Mile 11 - I think I’m going to die. Those sport beans aren’t magic!  There is no way I can run two more miles. I want to go lay down somewhere and not get up. Oh God, there’s the race photo person! I can’t smile, I can only grimace in pain. I hope to never see that picture.

Mile 12 - Ow ow ow ow ow ow. I hate this so much. Looks like the sun came back out and I think it is angry at us. Must. Keep. Moving.

Mile 13 and FINISH LIINE - Oh thank God! I don’t know if I’ve ever been happier to be finished with something. Maybe pregnancy?  A few really bad dates. Possibly the movie Titanic. But damn, look at our fabulous blingy medals! You don’t get a blingy medal after a bad date. And the after race party has tacos, pancakes and beer! Weird, but great. There’s a band playing KC and the Sunshine Band. This is awesome!

All in all, it was good experience. After the race I napped and then rehydrated with margaritas and tons of Tex Mex with my sister, plus my favorite H-Town residents Shakira and her awesome hubby. It’s a day later and I’m still pretty sore, but also pretty happy. Not a bad way to celebrate getting older.

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