Suburban Oblivion

Thanks to our founding fathers failing to write into the Constitution about a woman’s fundamental right to self-pleasure, the ass-backward state of Alabama is upholding a ban on the sale of sex toys. No, I WISH I was joking. Apparently sex toys lead to immoral behavior like prostitution and molestation. I don’t know about you guys, but just using the one little toy I have doesn’t exactly inspire me to go start screwing random strangers for money. Heck, it doesn’t even inspire me to sleep with my own husband, much less anyone else’s. I love men, I really do, but this is a law obviously pushed by a man with a little penis complex.

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I have come to realize something about friendship…

Good friends don’t mind if you have to take some time out from the game and play by yourself for awhile.

Good friends don’t expect you to walk on eggshells with them.

Good friends talk to you before deciding there is reason to be upset with you.

Good friends don’t expect you to pick sides.

Good friends stay on a level playing field and don’t expect things to always be on their terms.

Good friends assume the best about each other, not the worst.

Sometimes friendship is just too damn much work. I’m tired of trying to please everyone.

There is a pretty good reason Christmas is coined as the “Most Wonderful Time of the Year” in songs and not Valentines Day- men.

I hate to sound bitter, but men truly do make or break the holiday as we know it, and more often than not it’s broken.  I remember breaking up with a boyfriend my freshman year of high school because he had gotten me a very pretty set of sterling silver bracelets for Christmas, and then presented me with a plastic rose of gas-station quality without even a card to accompany it for Valentines Day. Its not the lack of a gift, it was the complete and total lack of thought going into it.  I’d rather have had a homemade card and some cookies he made himself or a picture he drew than to have been such an obvious afterthought. To add insult to injury there are always those girls who possessed something the rest of us didn’t, a twat lined in gold or something, that could barely get their books from class to class lugging the 2lb box of chocolates, the life-sized snow white bear, and the balloon bouquet large enough to be seen from closely orbiting spacecraft. As we drooled in envy, our boyfriends presented us with wilted single roses and maybe a card if we were lucky, and high-fived themselves on even remembering the day.

Fast forward ten years and things haven’t much changed.  Marriage is supposed to offer benefits. Things like a second income, someone to keep the bed warm at night, sex on demand, and (you can guess it) always having a date on Valentines Day. The problem is that while women grow up, men remain in that 9th grade state where they are just happy they remembered the date. And like in high school, the holiday becomes a crapshoot. Some get the grown up version of the dream, only instead of chocolate and balloons its now rubies and weekends at a cozy bed and breakfast. And the rest of us…well, lets just say I have discovered tonight just what the grown up version of the plastic rose is. The plastic rose has morphed into my husband claiming the Mardi Gras ball we are going to Wednesday IS him taking me out, and asking me 2 days beforehand “Oh, are we exchanging gifts, or are we going to skip it and save the money?”.  As you can see he has put a lot of thought into this before, oh, 40 minutes ago, and only AFTER I told him I had something planned for us Tuesday. Something, I might add, I have been planning for roughly 2 1/2 weeks.

Enough is enough. Seriously. What does a girl have to do to get a little romance in her life??? As much as he appreciates all the trouble I have gone to lately to become June Cleaver meets Jenna Jameson, he STILL cannot give me enough thought to do one little thing that he knows is important to me. I don’t expect diamonds. I don’t expect trips. Hell, I don’t even expect roses. Just throw me a damn bone here and pretend this was higher on your radar than your latest friggin XBox game.
Anyone know if the G-Spot place sells gold coochie-liners? Obviously I need a little help here.