Being 37 and a mom of 2, I have the struggle of dressing my age and dressing my body. There are certain fashion choices that just look ridiculous on a woman my age. Like when it was a big thing to have words on pants that stretch across your butt. I don’t need a sign on my ass that says Juicy. Because chances are, that’s describing my farts and not the shape of my rear end.

I am 37 as I write this post. Not dead yet, but not at the ideal age for a 9 month sobriety challenge (aka pregnancy). Because, at this age, it’s considered “geriatric” and that’s plain ridiculous. I’m fucking 37 not 62. How is that geriatric? I don’t use a walker and I only wet my pants when I sneeze.

It needs another name. Like….seasoned pregnancy or I’m-a-mature-fucking-woman-who-took-my-time pregnancy.

Why is it that when someone might be gay, we can’t help but throw it into the convo, even when we’re not talking about sex at all? Look, I don’t care which hole you’re using. But unless you’re showing me a manstick or making bedroom requests, we don’t need a play-by-play of who you think is gay. And if we’re going down that road, can we please start declaring straightness, too? Because that would be equally pointless. Let’s stop the weirdness, folks.

A little recap of our second try at shark tooth hunting for your reading pleasure. It includes a homeless guy showing off his goods, inappropriate jokes, ice nuggets, drinking anxiety, setting fires, PDA, and plaques.

Obligatory girl power moments in movies piss me off. Stop trying to unnaturally make those moments happen. Women are bad ass. You don’t have to force it.

I’m not a lady in the streets and, unfortunately for my husband, I’m not a freak in the sheets either. But my mind is as dirty as a toilet. Learn how one can be a prude with a perverted mind.