Revenge of the MILFs

So MisssyM started it all saying she was a bit tired of the way older women are called MILFs when frankly mostly younger men were not that desirable: frisky, panting, a little lacking in the self control department, and all in all what you'd want in a dog not a mate. She fought for a call for arms for MILFs everywhere to start a campaign to bring the older man to people's attention. First she thought she'd call her list of greying male hotties GILFs (with G being for Grandad) but then decided that was too icky and changed the acronym to WSW (We Still Would). She made a strong argument for choosing your well aged Stilton (crumbly and falling apart but with a full body) over you freshly packaged portion of Dairylea (firm to the bite, quickly dissolves on the tongue).

Over at the Cocktails at Naptime blog she listed some pretty good reasons why your WSWs trumped your toy boys including:

"A WSW wouldn’t look at your stretchmarks or episiotomy scars and shriek “What the fuck is that? Dear God, were you in a plane crash or something?!”

Then Heather got all hot under the collar looking at all the geriatric man meat MisssyM put up and decided to parade her own selection of wrinklies, including playing her trump card Alan Rickman. I must say I wasn't convinced (especially about MisssyM fancying Michael Palin). Your older bloke may well have a more well formed personality, but there's only so much chatting I want to do before we hit the sack. Basically I'm pretty sure I fall firmly on the other side of the fence, the fence of ripe biceps, unformed brains, a sex drive that won't quit and a birthday after 1980. Very Bored In Catalunya too came over to my side when she shouted: "You can all get jiggy with your zimmer-framed Romeos and I'll get busy with Jake Gyllenhaal!" Well said my girl!

So while I'd pick a ripe peach over a dried up piece of old fruit any day of the week I decided I'd rack my brains for five older guys I'd be more than glad to do it with. Frankly it's always been a bit of a puzzler to me why I don't generally fancy older guys. My dad wasn't around so you'd think I'd have daddy issues up the wazoo. I suppose I fancy the younger man - and frankly younger probably only means younger than me now so that means a cut off point of 39 - because I don't like talking about pension plans, don't like fancy restaurants, pretentious trips to the theatre, chats about literature or all the other things wrinklies talk about. I just like young, immature, funny, silly guys and if they make me laugh I don't mind paying for it (the meal I mean, I draw the line at paying for a gigolo). That's the way I roll. That said, let me lay out a nice selection of WSW dried fruit for your delectation.

1. Al Pacino

This sex scene in supermaket - Hot Hot! insanely hot! Are you listening Al? You can handle my yellow peppers any day of the week.

2. Denis Leary

Swears a lot, looks like he could drink me under the table and might like kinky sex (probably I got this idea from the naughty fireman he plays in Rescue Me who never ever turns any woman down even though he is married and has a girlfriend on the side in the programme).

3. Gabriel Byrne

Blue eyes, dark hair. Say no more. By the way before you all emigrate to Ireland - they don't all look like that over there!

4. Robert Downey Junior

So he's had a few problems with substance abuse - that only makes him more huggable. Come to mama!

5. Owen Wilson

I love his crooked nose, and his voice, Southern accent, so sexy. Shit he's only 42 (two years older than me) - does he qualify as an older man?

What do you think? Do any of these blokes rock your socks? Let me know which WSWs you think are the firmest raisins in the dried fruit selection!

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Hell Is Nice People

An example of the Comicbore hybrid. How do you deal with people like this without resorting to drugs or physical violence?

It started innocently enough. I picked up a book called Be Nice Or Else! And What's In It For You. It was written by an insanely cheerful hairdresser called Winn and was fairly inspirational but it got a bit much by the end. You were meant to write 'love letters' to your friends to tell them just how much they meant to you. I did kind of wonder what authority a hairdresser had to write this kind of upbeat jaunty self-help tome but what the heck. I did lose focus after a while though because the book was a little bit too rich for my blood, and I was beginning to feel like I was being force fed cotton candy. The gist of it was that you need to train your 'nice muscle' every day (and no apparently that's not a euphemism) because being nice will make you feel better ... or something.

But one thing did ring a bell and that was that you have to 'banish negative influences from your life.' So I had to stop reading trashy mystery novels because they kept giving me nightmares. I had to stop watching the news when there was any kind of mass shooting or disaster because I'd start getting paranoid that someone was going to shoot me in the street or that I was going to be hit by a hurricane. At that point life became, I must admit it Winn, very pleasant and completely devoid of stress. I had nothing to worry about or get my knickers in a bunch about.

But Winn, I got a bit of a mixed message about the people bit. If I cut down every whinging whining individual I know then life's gonna get pretty dull pretty fast. And have you ever noticed, Winn, how the most boring people actually have no idea they are boring as hell and often even try and be funny, creating the Frankenstein hybrid: the Comicbore. No, frankly you can keep your upbeat types with their practical jokes. I prefer people with lots and lots of dysfunctional problems as long as they have some good stories. Yes of course I want to know about someone's husband who has an uncontrollable gambling habit, who disappears for weeks and who has several illegitimate kids his wife has just found out about on a 'Don't Date This Man' website. Winn claims when someone starts dishing about all the 'negative shit in their lives' you're meant to say 'listen I love you but I can't be burdened by your emotional garbage.' To which I say WTF?

Firstly I'm not attracted to nice people. I mean nice people are all well and good. They bring you casseroles when you're sick and offer to mind your kids even when you tell them they have swine flu. But are they any good for a rollicking good gossip about whether Mrs Dobbins at Number 34 is having it off with Mr Blackstone at Number 67 because his Merc is always parked outside her house from one to two on weekdays? Of course they're not. They're useless for that.

So I really need some advice on this. If you can't have a bloody good gossip with someone what in the name of God are you meant to talk about? That's what I can't get my head around.

I mean I'm pleased that I'm all Zen and that but I'm simply not attracted to nice people. I can forgive people anything really - turning up very late, driving me somewhere and getting lost for hours, me always buying them drinks, mild body odour, a dreadful spouse, even an interest in watching indoor bowling if they are 1. entertaining 2. have some bloody good gossip.

Is that so wrong? Am I going to have to stop consorting with the craziest nutballs in the area simply because Winn wants me to cleanse my soul of negative influences? And the irony is hairdressers are the biggest gossips out there and I go to my one less because she can cut hair and more because she has some great stories about the mentally retarded methadone addict next door who was stalking her before she got a restraining order.

Please tell me dear readers what to do. Do I have to permanently give up hot gossip and bitchfests with my pals in order to have a parched and pure interior life to rival that of Sting or the Dalai Lama? Or can I indulge in the odd nugget of gossip on high days and holidays. Or share your pearls of wisdom on this thorny issue: what do you talk to nice people about? Answers on a postcard.

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Are You Sheeting Me?

"Oh don't bother changing the sheets - they both went to the same college."

Now I'm not a clean freak. You know what I mean. One of those mums you hear in the toilet cubicle next to yours screaming at some poor kid: "Don't flush! I said don't flush. Don't touch that Holly. It's got germs all over it. No don't sit on the seat I have to spray it with antibacterial spray first. Oh for the love of God Holly DON'T TOUCH IT!" while you suppress a chuckle.

I'm also the sort of person who, when head lice were going around the school did not start screaming, as did most of the other mums: "We should have been told about this weeks ago!" As if we were talking about a potentially fatal strain of cholera rather than some basically harmless headlice. In fact I rather enjoyed the 'Gorillas in the Mist' aspect of picking the nits out of the kids' hair.

Basically, I am not particularly clean or neat. And yes while I lived in the UK my mum was too tight to put on the heating very often so I often got dressed in bed and didn't bathe too much but I've since moved to the squeaky clean  US of A and instead of UK showers where a tiny dribble of lukewarm water accosts your noggin of a morning I am daily sprayed by the hot caress of the power shower. I must say when I lived in the UK even when I lived alone showering was not a daily occurrence, mainly because it tends to be freezing of a morning. But now I am here I shower daily sometimes twice but that is because it is pretty hot and I sweat a lot.

My question is, why then, when I listened to the BBC programme Woman's Hour and heard a programme about guest sheet changing etiquette, did my stomach do a backflip?

On it were a bunch of women discussing how often they changed their sheets. They said they changed them fortnightly which is probably a lie. I probably don't even change mine fortnightly, more like monthly but if I'm asked I'd say 'oh once every two weeks.' It's the same as everyone tells you they are having sex twice a week even if the only time they break open a new packet of condoms is on the Queen's birthday (that's twice a year for those non-Brits out there).

Anyway, people's own sheet changing habits are their own business. But then the programme got onto the question of whether you should put fresh sheets on a bed before a guest arrives. At this point I screamed at the radio "Of course you should!"

But evidently this was not a given, but a matter for debate. Someone called Jan Etherington had a bizarre rationale for when she'd change the sheets after a guest had been which was only if:

1. someone had a cold
2. a mother had nursed her baby in the bed
3. someone had slept in the bed after combining a beer and curry evening

Then the interviewer said she might not change the sheets in certain instances such as 'people who went to college together won't mind if the sheets aren't changed' or 'family members won't mind sharing the same sheets.'

I was, frankly, appalled. I began to wonder - is it just because I have lived in America too long that I feel all itchy thinking about this state of affairs. I mean, can it be right, can it ever be justified to not change the sheets after a guest has been, just leaving their sweat stained sheets for the next person and that being okay if 'they've been to college together' or 'are family members?'

What do you say: in what circumstances is it acceptable to not change the sheets after a guest has stayed at your house and I fully understand that some of you may wish to remain anonymous.

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Prayers needed for Tony and Lori

I had some terrible news yesterday. Lori of Ramblings of a Stay at Home Mum, a friend of mine here has seen her husband Tony be taken into intensive care. I don't know the details of why but I do know that this has been a tremendous and tragic shock to everyone, and that Tony is fighting for his life. Lori needs all the support she can get.

Lori posted this message on her blog yesterday to briefly explain the situation as it stands.

I would like to send my love to Lori and her family. I hope and pray that Tony is recovering and will be back with his family soon.

There is nothing I can do practically, but I'd like to send this message to say that I'm thinking of you and I hope that in a small way it helps to know you have my good wishes behind you.

Wanderlust has put together this FYBF in honour of Lori and what I’d like you to do as you link up today:

• If you haven’t already, please read Lori’s searing and heartfelt post from last night (it’s first on the Linky) and leave a comment of support for her.
• Send your prayers and/or good vibes to her and her family.
• Link up for Lori. Let her know you were here.
• If it is within your means, consider donating some money to help her family through this difficult time (her husband is the breadwinner and regardless of the outcome, this will be a rough financial ride for them). There is a paypal widget on Wanderlust's sidebar.
• Spread the word about the Linky so she can have as much support as possible at this time.

Love,
Emma
xxxxx



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A Priceless Piece of Tat

I've had a busy time of it recently since Waity Katie decided to tie the knot with that bald fellow with the receding chin - Wills or whatever his name is. To my British friends out there I have this momentous news to impart: yes there are actually people, okay Americans that did not know that Harry was son of Hewitt.

In the midst of Royal Wedding hysteria over here in the US it's been my duty to inform the Yanks about the history of the royals, and to set some stuff straight about what exactly Diana did with her riding instructor. I can inform you that there are many people okay Americans who actually think Di was an innocent victim in her marriage, and okay maybe she was to some extent but that didn't stop her from playing hide the salami with every Tom, Dick and Hewitt and more power to her I say.

But enough cynicism from me. It's not every day that the humble daughter of a millionaire gets to marry an inbred son (definitely a product of Charles on this one due to the balding etc). And get this - even though Katie is sporting the engagement ring once worn by Di worth a cool £85,700 now you too can share in the great day by purchasing your own piece of celebrity tat for only $19.90!! (play video above) - in the form of the "Royal Heirloom Ring, a limited edition replica of the timeless heirloom. The beautiful simulated “Ceylon” sapphire represents the original quality of the centerpiece and is surrounded by scintillating brilliant Diamond X-4 CZs and prong set in silver plate. It’s style, luster, color and cut are unsurpassed." 

And I do take issue with this pile of silliness: "Kate’s story of an everyday girl meeting her Prince and one day becoming the Queen of England is a modern day fairytale come true."

What? Since when was Kate a checkout girl at Asda?

My point is this and there is a point - Kate is not a coal miner's daughter who happened to catch the eye of a prince. She is a stinking rich Sloane - a UK Paris Hilton as it were without the entrepreneurial spirit to make sex tapes like One Night In Paris but a woman of wealth who has never worked a day in her life. Which is fine but why pretend otherwise? To sell cheap ring imitations perhaps?

What gets me about Kate is she's so bloody boring. She has a great figure yet wears clothes that look like they come from M&S. At the very least Katie get some designers to make you some great fashion forward dresses. Am I alone in looking nostalgically back at the old royals? In the old days Royals knew that they were layabouts with a duty to entertain the British public. Who can forget Prince Edward's um, production company that never made a bean and was funded by the royal wallet or Prince Margaret who was always drunk as a skunk, Prince Phillips racist comments which were frankly hilarious, Prince Andrew swinging both ways, Princess Di crazy as a fruitbat cavorting with cokehead Dodi and doing hilarious interviews about 'there were three of us in our marriage', and last but not least the Princess of Pork who has been exceptionally good value on the entertainment front and even tried to sell 'access to Prince Andrew' for a cool $725,000 before being declared bankrupt (she now blames that debacle on being a boozer). God help me I miss the colourful old style royals. Do you? Do you think the royals have a duty to be entertaining or are you pleased to see the new breed of royals like Kate and Wills who are about as dull as a wet weekend in Bognor Regis and seem to have hermetically sealed genitals? Discuss.

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