A Term Of Endearment?

What’s up with this whole “Cougar” thing?

Where the hell did that term come from?

Is there an equivalent moniker for men over 40 who date younger women?

Like….Typical Man Over 40? 

Is this the updated Helen Reddy version of female “empowerment?”  (God, I fucking HATE that word; not because of the word itself but because it’s been so over-exposed as psychobabble bullshit).

I looked up the lyrics to I Am Woman.

Oh, such insightful verses.

I am woman watch me grow
See me standing toe to toe
As I spread my lovin’ arms across the land
But I’m still an embryo
With a long, long way to go
Until I make my brother understand

Okay. I get it. I listened to it on some crackling FM radio station when I was young. I think I may have even liked it but that didn’t keep me from laughing my ass off when I looked it up today and found an ad for liposuction on the same page as the lyrics.  

Yes, we’ve come such a long, long way.

So, back to the Cougar question and what the hell it really means because I’m getting waaaay tired of seeing it everywhere.   

One web-site I found (cougarconvention.com) said Cougar’s are:

 “smart businesswomen, wives and mothers who have earned their stripes”.


Another one was way less attractive but they weren’t selling tickets to a convention in Vegas:

“Typically, cougars prey upon men almost young enough to be their sons”.

Prey upon? 

This description had me laughing even harder because it sounds like this new-age term actually has some significance and deserves an explanation, like, say…..Francophile. 

Here is how my simple brain works:

Older woman wants to bed younger man = doesn’t need a catchword.

Francophile, I get.  

It’s consistent.

It is without contradiction (at least not that I could find).

 It’s someone friendly or interested in all things French.  There are no opposing web-sites that claim Francophiles are actually freaks with an odd fascination with the sex lives of French midget, right? 

Not the case for Cougars.  They are at once predators AND prey. 

Once again, women get the short end of the sexual stick (no pun intended since there are so many wonderful male enhancement products available today which leaves NO room for excuses.)

But The Creator (or whoever runs this crazy asylum) is a comedian because men reach their sexual peak at, like, 12 and women don’t reach it until…well, I guess until they are so desperate for good sex they’ll turn into stalkers or so the web-sites say thus making the business of sex a veritable mosh pit of gender imbalance.  Some will survive; some will be trampled.  But in the end, we’ll all somehow destroy each other.

I wonder if this is what happened to the Mayans?

Nah!  I think they were just shitty farmers.

Okay…since I’m a believer in grassroots change, here are my suggestions to help bring balance to The Great Cougar Debate: 

  1. Ladies, sleep with whoever you want so long as it’s legal.
  2. Avoid assuaging your morning-after guilt by attending a please-validate-me Cougar convention in Vegas.
  3. If you want to cut loose and go all Roman Orgy once in a while, there are discreet places for that (not that I know first hand, of course, but I read a lot…) and no one will write an article about you in the local paper like the one I just read by a young reporter attending a Cougar convention at a dive bar in Santa Cruz.
  4. Try not to make total asses of yourselves by getting drunk and grinding your faces into the crotches of visiting Irish footballers in front of God and everybody at a dive bar in Santa Cruz because it makes you look like an idiots(see above).
  5. Do not Google the word Cougar……

…..unless of course, you’re looking for good blog material.

Next up:   MILF and the Oedipus Complex: A Modern Day Comparison

Fleece Makes Me Sweat

I’d like to say a few words about bears.

I am afraid of them.

Yeah, I know, they’re adorable looking especially when used in ad campaigns for fire safety.  Nothing is cuter than an animal in a ranger hat unless it’s a Chihuahua speaking Spanish but the Chihuahua probably wouldn’t kill you over a Twinkie.

And bears would.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m an animal lover. After all, I grew up in the Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom Era.  I know Marlin Perkins helped bring wildlife into American living rooms, but come on!  That was T.V. and Marlin Perkins was….well, obviously really brave and I’m not.

We’re currently visiting a place where bears are prevalent and that means being really, really careful about leaving food where they can’t smell it because those dudes get ravenous ‘round about 3:00 a.m. and nothin’ – short of specially designed solid metal boxes – can keep them from a hearty snack.  I mean, an entire cottage industry has sprung up around the sale of “bear boxes” in mountainous areas where humans have taken over bear habitats in the name of good family fun.  I think it’s quite sad for the bears but it hasn’t stopped me from taking vacations like everybody else.  I try to assuage my guilt by thinking that all that wasted food – unique only to humankind in industrialized countries – is somehow integral to the bear’s survival.  On the other hand, I worry that they’re getting way to much high fructose corn syrup which should not be part the typical bear diet. I’m not an animal expert but I will put myself out on a limb and say I think Marlin Perkins would agree if her were here and I could ask him. Damn!  Being human is so complicated!  I give a shit.  I don’t give a shit.  I’m concerned but I’m not concerned. Let’s consult an expert! Argh!

And then there’s a good night’s sleep.

Now, I love a good night’s sleep as much as the next guy but my husband and I differ on one fundamental issue.  He likes to sleep with the doors wide open all night long regardless of weather conditions.  Fortunately, I own a lot of fleece.  Unfortunately, I don’t love sleeping in it but for the sake of marital bliss, I do.

But sleeping with the doors open in bear country is muy stupido.  Especially when sleeping on the ground floor with nothing between you and Gentle Ben but a flimsy screen and some medium weight damask curtains.   

No. No. No. This will not do.

I tried to scare Artic Man with bear mauling stories I found on the internet.  I tried using diagrams to compare bear bodies with human bodies and how bears clearly have the upper hand in a human/bear confrontation.  He didn’t buy it.  He accused me of being shrill. I probably was but in the face of possible mauling, I think shrill is within the confines of  “acceptable”.


Time to pull out the big gun:   A real live LOCAL newspaper article. 

Yeah.  This’ll do it.


I’m telling you the truth. This hungry bear just came inside the house!  Just waltzed right in like one of the kids; didn’t even wipe his feet.  This poor guy had to hold him off with a dining room chair until animal control arrived with one of those tranquilizer guns. 


This isn’t about bears.  It’s about fleece.


No. It’s about bears…..and Twinkies.


We don’t even eat Twinkies.


I’m using Twinkies to represent all forms of human food and human food has become the food of choice for bears these days and they’ll do anything to get it including climbing over sleeping humans who leave their doors open at night.


Look, I know fleece makes you sweat but—-


It’s not about the fucking fleece! 

This is not working.

So I tried another tactic.  I solicited a few of my fellow bear-fearing friends to stage an intervention since being told you’re prodding fate with a red-hot poker by your friends is much more effective than hearing it from your spouse.

It worked.

And I am fleece free.

Danger: Water In Pool

I get really, really sick of women’s magazines. 

I resent the notion that  women need to be instructed on what men want in bed or how to lose 10 pounds  of belly fat in one weekend.  I’m quite certain I’ve ranted about this before so I won’t be redundant.

Instead, I’ll espouse the benefits of Esquire Magazine.   It’s sort of a kinder, gentler version of Maxim which is all about hot chicks and the men who love them, fast cars and other stuff that men dig.   Most of the articles about women and sex center around women TELLING men what they love to do rather than some sort of instructional bullshit designed to make women feel they don’t know shit from shinola in the sack which is common practice in the pages of women’s magazines.  I prefer the Maxim philosophy but that’s just me.

Esquire is where I was turned on to a funny but simple web-site:  www.failblog.org

It’s not deep or profound or philosophical. Just funny. It’s kind of like that Jay Leno segment where they read misguided newspaper headlines, advertisements and comical misprints.  It’s worth a visit if you want a chuckle.  This is where I found the picture of a sign on a chain link fence warning  about water in pool along with a newspaper headline that reads:  Homicide Victims Rarely Talk To Police.  

The closest thing I found to male angst in Esquire was by a British guy (got the UK version) who couldn’t decide whether to shave off his beard because he had a double chin.  I read it.  I laughed.  It was supposed to be funny.  Because angst is often funny and men seem to have a much better way of handling angst then women and aren’t afraid to exploit it in print.  I find this refreshing.

Where women’s magazines direct their readers to sites about colon cleansing for weight loss and lame blogs about sex and the single guy, Esquire directs its readers here:  www.todgertalk.blogspot.com

It’s much more entertaining.