age ain't nothing but....

another reason to argue with my 28 year old guy.

When I was 24 I dated a 35 year old salon owner/computer techie/mafioso named Dario. Dario drove fast cars, owned a ridiculous mansion and was newly divorced. He was gorgeous, with tanned skin and perfectly highlighted hair, and had those few distinct wrinkles lining the sides of his face. He also reached a mere 5 feet 5 inches, and I can still remember how his legs ridiculously stood out straight in front of him in order to reach the foot pedals of his Porshe.

Dario treated me like a princess. He would slip gas money into my bag every time I came to see him, took me to fancy dinners, set up wine tastings in vineyards, let my dog stay at his place while we were out, and even bought a huge box of treats and toys for him. He also remembered that I mentioned that I needed a new computer for school when we first met, and had a brand new laptop waiting for me on our first date.

There’s a reason why I stopped seeing Dario, but we’ll get to that later. The point is that Dario did all these things for me without expecting me to give it up. I dated the man for nearly 2 months and he was nothing but a gentleman. Turned out to be somewhat a freak later, but nevertheless, he treated me with nothing with respect.

Men in their twenties simply can’t understand how ANY woman their age could be attracted to an older man. They think it’s because we want security ie: money, and men simply want sex and therefore it’s a win/win situation. Ahem…last I heard, males of every age just want sex. Especially men in their 20’s. You’re fucking notorious for it. So simply accept it guys….while you’re still trying to figure out to master “the game”, these OG’s figured it out a long time ago. Want to know the secret? Be secure in yourself and treat your girl like she’s the most important thing to grace the face of this planet. It’s that simple. I’m not going to delve into any further explanation…I’m sure you’ll figure it out sometime in the next 10 years.

Also, older men ARE hot. My fantasy threesome? Matt Dillon, John Stamos, and Anthony Kiedis. All over 40. And yes, I would totally do AK if he still tests negative for hepatitis. Hooking up with such fine specimen would not make me a gold-digger….and being in a relationship with one of them would not make the man a sugardaddy. I work at an airport bar. If I want money, I could simply hook up with the manyyoung, married men who flash their (corporate) Amex black cards at me. Or any of us could go after one of those gold chain rocking sleazeballs in an Atlantic City casino. You know, the ones that offer you $100 chips just to grope your ass. If you’re from Jersey, you’re probably either dating or are related to one...so you def know what I'm talking about. An older man just has this air of confidence and therefore a certain level of sexiness that you just don't get from your typical frat boy.

So why did I break up with Dario…

Well, I sound like a total hypocrite now, because quite frankly Dario and I didn't have much sexual chemistry. I've had it with other man-cougars...just not with him. And this is why...
After 2 months of dating, we finally got physical. We were lying in bed watching the movie Shark Tale, and all of the sudden he decided it was “time”. He rolled over and went downtown without warning. I'd love to say it was passionate and amazing but it simply wasn't. It was quiet and oh so very fucking awkward. You have to understand that we had plenty of romantic moments in the past couple months. What it was about Will Smith playing an animated fish that excited him is beyond me. And the moment of coitus went something like this
Me: you could put it in now...
Him: I am in...
Me: oh.....uh...as you were...
Long story short, I found out he had a belly piercing when his tangled with mine, his endowment was totally relative to his short stature, and while we were doing the deed he reached for the remote control because Andy Milanokis was about to start. That’s where I drew the line and got pissed off. You do not reach for the remote while you are IN me. Especially to watch some white rapper comedian who looks like he's 12. A grown man that gets turned on by children’s movies was just too much for me to handle. Realizing it was the worst sexual experience one could ever have, I told him to hurry up. The next morning he left for work, and I never heard from him again. Either he was embarrassed for his actions, or he thought I sucked in bed. I bet it was the latter of the two.

I'm no Jenna Jameson, but for that man to believe he couldn't possibly be God-awful in the sack?

Imagine that.
But thanks for the 'puter....

-a

Ps. He's so going to have me killed for writing this

top of the mernin to ya dawg!

my roommate Sean would wake Kelly and I up to this phrase every morning. It didn't matter how hungover we all were (which was every morning), or how many lines he snorted hours earlier, or that he totally verbally abused me for locking the front door the day he happened to lose his key. Unfortunately, this forced him to break into his own house because his dumbass failed to look into the mailbox when we ALWAYS kept a fucking spare in there for each other. It also didn't matter which random moose, or mythical looking creature/female he had sprawled naked on his bed at the time. He would get up at 7 am, greet the dog and cat in the hallway with that phrase in the loudest voice possible and then literally run the ten feet from his bedroom into the shower and slam the door. Sometimes he would run into my room first, ask for lotion to alieve the "rug" burn he had on his stomach from the unkempt woman he courted for the night, and then run into the shower. But the routine was essentially the same. On those mornings, I silently cursed God and Sean for making his pubic area the very first thing I see in the morning. It just wasn't right. And I could hear Kelly laughing in her bedroom at the sheer ridiculousness of our living situation...
I wrote that last post in a drunken stupor @ 4 am. It's now 8:29 am I was snapped out of my coma by a random number calling me, and something gnawing on my pinky. As I tried to understand, like so many times before, what now caused my stomach to be on fire, my head inside out and my mouth stuffed with cotton...I started to smile. The number wasn't a friend who lost me at a bar, the gnawing on my pinky was my dog and not a random Brazilian with a faux-hawk, and my wallet wasn't completely empty. You're probably thinking "shit Anita, you got drunk alone at home? That makes you an alcoholic" No shit it does. But I didn't drive haphazardly across the city screaming the lyrics to "zombie" out my window, there wasn't a random friend lying on my couch covered in urine, and I didn't knock off any rearview mirrors parallel parking. And with one eye closed, I actually cracked a smile and began to fall back asleep....
And then I remember I downed a plate of ziti right before I passed out.
fuck.
And this is what got my fat, late night carb-munching ass out of bed....seriously.
now I feel like shit.

dig me out from under what is covering the better part of me....

I know I haven't written in a while. It's probably been about a year. And quite honestly, Cougardiaries just isn't the the same without Kelly. Since we stopped spending $20,000 a year on alcohol in order to tolerate our meager existences in this world, we thus ended the "ass-crack of dawn recollection of memories - while puking into a random wastebasket" syndrome.
The past couple years have been interesting to say the least. After Gram took off for AZ, leaving me in the filth and squalor we know as Philly. I immediately bonded with Danielle, and took my Sunday funday to entirely new levels. She turned me into a new fan of tailgating Eagles games, helped me give up my previous rotation of men for an entirely new set of undesirable guys, encouraged my passive aggressive self to say "fuck you" to practically anyone who posed the slightest threat of ruining my good mood, and helped me realize it's totally ok to do vodka redbulls non-stop from 2pm - 2 am... as long as you're with the people you love and who will certainly bail you out of jail when you get arrested for protesting against your citation for public urination and misconduct. Under different circumstances, I would typically hate this too pretty - sorority type, but she's grown to be one of my best friends and has helped me realize what a loveable wingman I can be.
I do believe things happen for a reason.
And gram...in that abso-fkn-lute vulnerable stage I went through where you had to pick my lifeless body from the carpet, clean up the bottles of vodka off the floor, and turn down the volume on the Staind cd I set on repeat....I'll never forget and will always keep in my heart. For you to do that, and not gossip about it the next morning means everything to me. The fact that you could simultaneously do the running man in the middle of the dining room with me (as if nothing ever happened) while putting away groceries the very next day means even more. I can honestly say while I watched my own mother almost bleed to death...twice...you were the only person that kept me sane....and I will forever love you for that.
I have countless stories with my grams. Everything from night-vision sex tapes which ended up in Iraq to catching an obese paraplegic watching us drunkenly make eggs in our underwear at 4 am from his makeshift bed in the neighbor's kitchen, to pregnant redneck women smoking cigarettes on our stoop and accusing us of "purshing us down them stairs!" wtf? No wonder we were so confused and lost in our early 20's. Not to digress, but I so wonder how baby Brailynn is doing with her baby cigarette lungs. It's the parents names combined. Brian and Lynn. Very original. She'll probably be knocked up by the age of 12. I know I'm going to burn in hell for saying that but honestly...she never stood a chance with those parents. The had a fucking couch and lamp set on their outdoor porch for chrissake!!! I suppose these type of stories will come out in future posts, with Gram's permission, of course.
Also, to everyone's surprise, I have finally have found a guy that I can somewhat tolerate, and who surprisingly can somewhat tolerate me as well. Probably because we share the same twisted mind where we visualize running over people who take their good old time walking at a crosswalk. You know you felt that way at one point, and if you say you haven't, you're a liar. More on that later...maybe...I prefer blogging about guys I don't give a shit about...
Anyway, times with D....
what am I allowed to say?
that I randomly hooked up with a NBC news anchor (cough...DC station) who I later looked up on the internet and found out was newly married with child?
yeah...I said it. Shame on me, shame on you, asshole.
or that a boyfriend, who chastises us for smoking weed, got so drunk that he bear hugged a cop with a severe inferiority complex, and almost got arrested just so he could speak into the cop's walkie talkie?
that I pulled a Richard Pryor and lit my fucking head on fire on super bowl sunday?
that we were flagged for drinking at a STADIUM?!?!
that she tried setting me up with some loser in nyc that danced like the Botuabi brothers @ Night at the Roxbury, had a severe Asian fetish, and would actually pin terrified, random Asian girls against the wall while bobbing his head to the left?
that in order to tolerate such behavior I drank myself into oblivion and remember puking on the floor of the skybar as I looked upon a beautiful view of Times Square at night?
or that we almost punched each other the week she was moving away and she planned to steal my car and run off to Atlantic City?
which story would you like you to hear?
I love her too. Like a sister who's closet I want to raid.
Who knew that two girls who are the exact opposite of myself and each other would help me grow up?
The introvert therapist who would kick doors and throw beer cans at Vespa shops with me... who bit her tongue as I dated short 37 yr old mafiosos...and all the while telling me the body worker/motivational speaker I was infatuated with was full of shit. And the extrovert event planner, who would throw hot sauce at random guys at Citizens Bank Park and sausages at South Philly mafiosos all while telling me the body worker/motivational speaker I was infatuated with was full of shit.
You're both now on the west coast and I still am closer to the two of you than anyone else here.
and Russell.....apparently you're full of shit. I don't care what the newspapers say. And I hate your stupid haircut. Seriously, it's ugly. But you don't care because I am not enlightened and have issues with authority which is why my left shoulder is out of place....BLAH BLAH!!
Why am I a cougar-in-training you ask? Probably because in the past five years I had a good time with your boss, busboy...and/or your little brother, and I'm not ashamed to say it, because I have now calmed the hell down. If, however, things don't work out with my relationship and I end up alone with your boss/busboy/little brother/son 20 years down the road....don't say I didn't warn you.
Actually, scratch that, I am ashamed of some of the guys I've been with.
ie: Mr. Pussy, the frat boy I met at O' Brians on Christmas 2002, who kept a live alligator in his bathroom and a constant mound of coke on his coffee table.
...that was weird, and definitely one for the books...but only Shemi knows about it .
Shemi...That's a whole new story of a 19 yr Philly girl moving to a southern city and finding herself with the help of her favorite puertorriqueno, who shares a love for Guinness and stiff drinks. And that's fresh off the boat rican, not them harlem puerto ricans we find here up north....
I guess I'm writing this because I'm drunk and my mom is back in the hospital riding it out like the tough chick that she is....as tough as you can be with an Indian accent...and I realize those who mean anything to me are scattered across the country. We'll always have our memories, and this blog to put em on blast.
I do the same things as a lot of you readers, I just have the courage to post those skeletons up on the internet for the world to see. And I apologize to anyone who finds me offensive. I know people will judge, but that;s on them. Shit, I'm not a celebrity...my agent won't care....
especially my exes new girlfriend's who like to stalk me on the internet....you know who you are...
stay tuned....and/or check out www.cougardiaries.blogspot.com

and I'll see ya on the flipside
-a