Happy Friday, Minions,
Here I am, Pina.
There have been some questions that imply that I do not really exist, that I am a Betties alter ego, the one they can blame all their grammatical mistakes, bad punctuation, and low readership on.
So I am going to tell you a little bit about myself (not too much, because I've already had a stalker or two, and a lot of my life is none of your business, frankly.
Like our gorgeous Twills, I too am Canadian, but I'm on the other coast from her, over here a few hours north of Seattle. Twills is a little more snarky than me, and I tend to shoulder the majority of the sarcasm. I've always been sarcastic, and it's gotten to the point I have been sarcastic for so long that all my tones of voice sound the same- full of wit and sarcasm.
I am always honest, and what you see here on blogger or facebook is exactly what I am.
I've never told anyone I weigh 120. cause I don't.
I'm not going to tell you I model in my spare time, cause I don't.
I'm no MILF, like our Twills. (Mostly because my uterus is moving around like a tumbleweed in there) but also because Twills is hot enough to get assaulted by old men wielding meat, where as I get pinched on the ass on the crowded train.
I think I have a good sense of humour, and so do the two or three friends I have.
I live alone with my three cats (go ahead, asshat, make the little old lady with too many cats jokes)
I have three blog sites, some that are family safe, some that are a little more raunchy, and some of them are artistic and creative. At least I hope they are. I have been blogging here and on myspace for well over 4 years now, and while I have been slow to add a lot to this page, I will be making a better effort to post more often.
I think that's a fair introduction to me, and it fits in with this week's theme:
Instead of having us answer a question that someone mailed into us at Laynie2@gmail.com, we are going to allow you, our readers, the chance to ask us anything you want. If you feel shy, go ahead and be anonymous. We will do our best to answer every question, but try to be relatively clean, OK folks? You're not going to find out id the curtains match the carpet if you ask me.
Let's just try and have some fun, and you can get to know Twills and I better, making you more informed Betties minions.
Go ahead- give us your best.

Love;
The Betties
XOXOX(Questions only, NO touching)

Wednesdays: Why People Suck

The weather is warming up in my part of Canada.  This is a really long process it seems, but we're getting there, finally.  I tend to dress in layers.  Tank, shirt, sweater, jacket... that sort of deal.  You need to do this, because you never know when you're going to start sweating, or when you'll catch a cool breeze and the headlights come on.  What?  It happens!

Since the mornings are still so cold and the afternoons are sometimes sweltering, you do run the risk of breaking out into a sweat before you even realise that you need to remove a layer, however.  You've got to watch out for that because no one wants a Milf with sweaty armpits!  Decidedly not hot.

There is always that one asshole though.  The kind of asshole who will look at your Milfy flop-proof outfit, and that asshole will say, "Aren't you hot?"  Asshole, who the fuck cares?  Of course I'm *hot*, though not temperature-wise.  I am fucking vampire, okay?  I'm a lizard!  I have Renaud's Disease!  I'm perpetually cold and it matches well with my cold, black heart you fecking eejit!  I was a cutter and my arms are ugly from the scars!  I have tattoos and I'm on the way to the nursing home!  My body does not contain fully-oxygenated blood and I have bad circulation combined with low blood pressure!  I don't feel like taking this jacket off because it's new and it defines my waist nicely and makes me look thinner!  Plus I spilled mustard on my boobs at lunch.

Pick one or more of the above.  Does it matter to you if I'm feeling warm in my clothing?  It is none of your damned business if I'm hot.  Or cold.  Or full of chicken pox!

It's Wednesday, and on Wednesdays we tell the truth.  People who ask other people whether or not they are hot?  They suck.  Tell me, minions.  Who sucks?

That's all,

Twills

XOXO

Twills' Homage to Bad Boys

What is it about men? Show me a fancy gentleman in an argyle sweater vest and I will scarcely check to see if he's cute or has junk in his trunk. Nice, safe boys? No fun. What I love is a bad boy.

It seems almost a given that I have either been with you or will have been into you if you share any one of the following attributes:

--You're in a band. Heck yes. A boy once told me that girls fall for guitarists all the time because they have hot licks and fast fingers. *nods*

--You've been given the gift of sarcasm. You are a smart ass. You have a dry sense of humour. You are witty and love to make fun of people in such a way as they don't necessarily understand that you're doing it. As long as you direct that at other people and not at me, you make me hot.  We have guys like that right here at One For the Road, and I'm sure they'll be joining us soon, in the comments. ;)

--You have tattoos. Hell, even if they're on your FACE. Even if they're stupid... It seems I will fall for you.

--Have you ever been to jail? That's hot.

--Are you punk as fuck? We can be punk as fuck together.

--Do you have a motorcycle?  Alternatively, do you drive a big old rusty farm truck?  Yes, I've fallen for that, too.  Both.

--Were you once a manwhore?  Do you think that a good idea for foreplay is to tell me details about other chicks that you've slept with?  Yeah, I think I've dated you too.

--You don't have a job?  That's okay, you can come live with me.

--Oh, but you still live with your parents?  Sure, we can make out in their basement!

--Do you commonly speak in Ebonics even though you white as Minute Rice?  Ima be up on yo ass.

--Why yes, I do like the occasional left-handed cigarette, thank you very much.

--You've got a fast car?  I've got a plan to get us out of here.

There is just something about a bad boy.  They're dangerous.  I don't want to save them, but I want them to have saved themselves.  Not to fix them because I think they're damaged; I don't want to apply myself to them like a poultice.  I love them for who they are:  dark, mysterious past included.  

Now tell me ladies, Dapper Dandy or Bad Boy, and why?

That's all,

Twills

XOXO

Ms. Twills If You're Nasty

The Betties have been called "FemiNazi Lezbots" before.  Shocking, I know.  Offensive?  Not really.  The word "Nazi" is offensive, but by it's definition The Betties are in no way affiliated with Nazi principles, obviously, so I really wouldn't take offense to anything so blatantly untrue. 

Lezbots.  Well, that's a different one.  Lesbian + Robot = Lezbot, is that what we're aiming at?  To call someone a lesbian, or to deny that oneself is a lesbian implies that there is something wrong with being a lesbian.  Therefore, I will not even justify this "insult" by refuting it.  The Betties love them some gays, let me tell you.

Feminist.  Now that's a word I can get into.  Yes, readers.  I do self-describe as a feminist; and why not?  Just because I care deeply about the rights of women (and by extension, children) around the world does not mean that I fit into the stereotypical feminist role.

For instance, you will never catch me with hairy armpits or wearing a lumberjack coat.  I like to use words like hooker, slut, bitch and whore and though I realise how damaging words and labels like this are, I'm not so strict as to discontinue them in my vocabulary when saying them gives me such pleasure.  Bitches.  See?  It rolls off the tongue so nicely.  (Though if you want to talk to me about your period I will cut a bitch down, okay?  Just sayin'.)

Ever since I was a very young child, I have used the title "Ms." instead of "Miss". My mother was dead set against it and tried to discourage me.  She always said that the title "Ms." was for divorced women.  It was said mildly yet firmly, but what it really meant was, "The title 'Ms.' is for divorced women, and divorced women have loose morals so I don't want you to be associated with them."  And damn, wasn't she right?  When she became a divorced woman twenty years later she did become a woman with loose morals!  The irony!  (And it was about time, quite frankly!)

Ms. Twills if you're nasty.  One of my own personal theme songs.  How much better would this have been if Janet had said "Ms." instead of "Miss"?  Gyrating and sexuality included.  *nods*

That's all,

Twills

XOXO

Why People Suck

Introducing a new feature here on "One For the Road":  Why People Suck.  We hope to keep this going on Wednesdays from now on.  We're going to tell you why people suck, then in the comments section we want you, readers, to tell us why people suck.

This week's entry is brought to you by none other than Shiloh Jolie-Pitt, pictured here, photo from Posh24.

Don't tell me that you don't think she's badass.  Cuteness overload!

The reason why people suck, is that if you google any bottom-feeding tabloid rag, you'll see headlines like "Angelina Trying to Turn Shiloh Gay", or "Brad walks on on Angelina For Forcing Shiloh to Dress Like a Boy", or my favourite, "Brad Takes Shiloh and Moves in With Jennifer Anniston:  Says a Friend, 'She was trying to make her become a lesbian!' ".

I don't need to tell you why these people suck, but here are a few.

1)  There is nothing wrong with being gay.

2)  It's not possible to turn people into a gay.

3)  The child looks cute.  She is making her own fashion decisions, and thankfully has parents who have the means and the willingness to support her.

4)  I only wish I could accessorize that well!

5)  My cousin's baby daddy used to be obsessed with wearing skirts when he was that age and grew up to be a manwhore, so there!  Children play with gender roles all the time, and it's normal for them to do so.

6)  The way an individual dresses has nothing to do with sexual orientation, unless perhaps it's like this:

There are a few reasons, though I could go on.  But you tell me, readers.  Why do people suck?  And how?  Discuss.

That's all,

Twills

XOXO

Betties Q & A Day!

Hello there, readers, and welcome to another fun-filled edition of the Betties' Advice Blog.  I'm not much into foreplay, so let us just jump right into the thick of things here with our first question:

Dear Betties,

What's up with the "pornstache" that is popping up on the upper lip of the men in my neighborhood?  Is this something new Brad Pitt is sporting?  Do tell!  Is it the latest trend in facial hair for men?

Love,

Hating the Facial Pubes

Muffin Says:

Dear Hating,
Hate is such a strong word....I think the Facial Hair you dub as the Porn Stache is a multi purpose tool that we can put to good use! Its a great exfoliating tool...It becomes a Flavor Savor, and If you are Colonial Sanders or Magnum PI its a trade mark!

The Muffin has yet to be witness to this new phenomenon in male fashion, Perhaps Daytona is not quite hip to the times! I will make a point to photo upload these to my FB page as I encounter them though!
Still Love the Goatee ~Muffin

Twills Says:

Anyone who sports a pornstache is likely either a) stuck in the seventies; or b) a hipster.  If this person is a hipster and has a pornstache, it is likely that the only reason why is because that dude thinks he's way cooler than you.  Than anyone.  He seems to think that he's rocking it with irony, and that's he's just so special that no one else will "get" what he's trying to do.  In reality we all know that he just looks like a total douchebag.

There is another instance where it might be acceptable.  Personal story here:  When I first met the DILF, oh it was magic.  Until I saw his driver's license photo!  OMG!  He was rocking the pornstache! This was in the year 2000, not when it had suddenly come back into vogue.  The story was, he had shaved off his winter beard and had gone in to town with that on his face as a joke.  He was renewing his driver's license that day because it was his birthday, but didn't realise that he'd need a picture taken.  He told the woman at the office that he didn't really look like that, but she didn't care.  (She's well known for being a crusty bitch in our area)  She snapped the photo anyway, and for the next five years he had to have a flaming red pornstache on his License.  So if you want to give them the benefit of the doubt, it might be just a one time thing and you've happened to spot them?

(I still think it's because they think that they're cooler than you)

Lovingly,

Twills

XOXO

Question Two!  Almost there!

Dear Betties,
My cousin has been trying to fix me up on a blind date with a friend of hers. I was interested at first because he has a good job and we are into the same kinds of things. But then last week, right before we were about to finalize some plans, she told me that he is renown for having huge balls. Now I'm really grossed out and don't want to meet him, but she thinks I'm being too picky. What do you think?

Signed,

Small Baller

Dear SB
Well that depends...Would you prefer a man with a set of ping pongs? I am not sure, what if the size of his Balls correlated with the size of his wallet... you would still complain? Listen I think its important to all kinds of things that your man as well as you have a set (figuratively speaking for you anyway unless you actually do have a set, then I think its important that you both determine who's are bigger! Someone must be the decision maker!) and as far as I am concerned Bigger anything is always better!(yes, this includes everything!)
Now if he is picking them up to sit down, I might be a little concerned but not enough to not go to dinner! Perhaps you should dig deep, find your own, and order dessert first!

Do let us know how it goes!

~Muffins got the biggest Balls of them all!

Twills Says:

Dear Baller,

Run!  If giant balls freak you out and you don't think you can get over it, don't date him.  If they're giant and freakish now, what do you think they'll look like when they're old and wrinkled?  There are plenty of fish in the sea, and if you are looking for Mr. Right, and Mr. Right has average sized balls, then you would be wasting your time with Mr. Giant Balls.  And seriously, how the fuck does SHE know that he has huge balls, huh?  Something is rotten in the state of Denmark, and it might be the tuna.

Investigate this please,

Twills

XOXO

Where's Pina, you say?  She's still not recovered from a botched boob job she got last week.  Just don't tell her that she looks like Tara Reid, please.  She's sensitive and she'd like to stay that way.

Until next week, 

Your Betties

XOXO

laynie2@gmail.com, for inquiries or for a good time. ;)

Meet Your Betties: Twills Edition

I first met The Muffin on MySpace, many moons ago.  I was either knocked up for the third time, or delirious with lack of sleep because the baby had not slept through the night in... well, how old is he now?  Nearly three? Well yes, then three years.  He hasn't slept through the night in three years.  That explains why I'm kind of loopy then, no?

I seem to recall her having something to do with winning a goat.  I still to this day have no recollection of her ever having taken delivery of the beast, but if she did I think she'd dance naked in a forest and sacrifice it, since she's a witch.  A real one!  *cue ominous sounding music*

The first blog that I read of hers was because our mutual friend Louminator, (who I met through Deb, who was my first and best MySpace friend) had pimped a blog that she'd written.  What was this blog about?  Well, she'd been married at that time for about a month or two, and decided that it was a good time to start sharing her wisdom with others on how to have a successful marriage.  I knew then that she was my kind of broad, and we've had each other's back ever since.

When Muffin is not busy buying and selling the state of Florida as if it's some giant Monopoly board, she's a famous radio personality on the AM dial.  In her spare time she enjoys doing hot yoga, texting people constantly on her CrackBerry, and soaking up her husband Hunka's burning love.

Pina and I had a few of the same MySpace friends, but we didn't friend each other there until I had actually stopped writing in that venue.  Too many creeps up in there, but I'd decided that Pina wasn't one of them.  We agreed long ago that we wouldn't talk about whose blogs we'd seen each other on because it was too much like gossip, but if you want to read our favourite one, click here.

Pina is a west coast Canadian girl, and has a west coast accent.  You already know that she has tons of cats, but what you didn't know is that her cats are hookers.  They get knocked up more than I do, and Pina encourages this behaviour so she can raise a cat army which only responds to her command.  Look out, West Coast.  Pina's Pussies are vicious.  

It doesn't help that while she has a tough exterior, she is soft on the inside (look DEEP, people) and the neighbourhood cats prey on this.  They all congregate near Pina's place and meow at each other about how she'll take in even the scrawniest, most feral cat and treat it like a princess.  There is no end to the lavish attention she gives them, so they know that any pregnant pussy can camp out at Pina's until such a time as she's ready to drop her litter and start hustin' for more tail again.  Sluts!

When Pina is not busy breeding a mutant cat army, you can find her... well, online of course.  That's because she is the only person who is online more than me, and who also sleeps less than me.  Somehow we've developed a Psychic Betty Connection which enables us to say the exact same thing at the exact same time, which is actually quite creepy at times with us stomping all over one another's brain.

As for the fourth Betty, who knows?  Maybe she doesn't exist.  Maybe she's a guest Betty.  Maybe the fourth Betty is you, our audience.  Because don't we all have a little bit of a Betty inside of us?  Think of the options:  Betties White, Page, Boop, Rubble (The original Milf), Grable, Ford, Crocker, (and Veronica: but I have to admit, I'm a Veronica in this one), Draper, Suarez, Rizzo, Ross, Davis, and Atomic Betty.  So many great role models to choose from, one can not help but want to explore their inner Betty.

That's all,

Twills

XOXO

Betties Q & A Day!

Happy Friday, Gentle Readers.  Though not too gentle, please, because you know The Betties like it rough.  *rawr*  Welcome to another fantasmic edition of The Betties Advice Blog.  What we need our adoring public to do, is send us your questions to:  laynie2@gmail.com.  Then we will answer them right here on Fridays if we deem them worthy of our attention.

This week we have an offering from someone who doesn't necessarily have relationship trouble, just someone who wants to know what we think about something.  Which is great because us Betties are known for speaking our minds.

Dear Betties,

I want to know why you think heterosexual men are attracted to transexual or transgendered individuals, who are now female.

Signed, 

TransWondered

Twills Says:

Dear TransWonderful,

I think what we need to do first, is to define our terms.  Wikipedia helped me plagiarize this:

Transvestite:  Transvestism (also called transvestitism) is the practice of cross-dressing, which is wearing the clothing of the opposite sex.

Transgendered:  Transgender is the state of one's "gender identity" (self-identification as woman, man, neither or both) not matching one's "assigned sex" (identification by others as male or female based on physical/genetic sex). "Transgender" does not imply any specific form of sexual orientation; transgender people may identify as heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, pansexual, polysexual, or asexual; some may consider conventional sexual orientation labels inadequate or inapplicable to them. The precise definition for transgender remains in flux, but includes:
"Of, relating to, or designating a person whose identity does not conform unambiguously to conventional notions of male or female gender roles, but combines or moves between these."[1]
"People who were assigned a sex, usually at birth and based on their genitals, but who feel that this is a false or incomplete description of themselves."[2]
"Non-identification with, or non-presentation as, the sex (and assumed gender) one was assigned at birth."[3]

So, now that we've cleared that up, I think that straight dudes could possibly be attracted to hot trannies because once you've become enough of a man-whore, you need to branch out.  If one were to keep an open mind about such things, one could reach epic realms of sluttiness!  Think of the possibilities!  Not only would you broaden your fuckability to include chicks, but dudes who look like chicks/have recently become chicks/people with no clear gender at all!   There is actually a proper term to describe this phenomena:

Pansexuality is a sexual orientation, characterized by the potential for aesthetic attraction, romantic love, or sexual desire towards people, regardless of their gender identity or biological sex.  The word pansexual is derived from the Greek prefix pan-, meaning "all". It is intended to negate the idea of two genders (as expressed by bi-).

There you have it.  It takes all kinds.   Lesson of the day:  Broaden your mind and your loins will follow.

That's all, 

Twills

XOXO

What is this?  The other two Betties are absent?  That's because Pina is too busy down at the wharves, trying to get sailors to barter their chewing gum and nylons for her services.  Where is the Muffin, you say?  She went back to Hot Yoga, and now she can't get her foot down from behind her head.  While Hunka is excited, it makes it difficult for her to function in every day life.

With that, let us leave you with a song.  Until next week, bitches and trannylicious alike.

Twills: Anonymous, Bitches!

It's time, people.  It's time for you to start commenting.  Now I know that we are narcissistic enough to just keep on blogging without caring what the fuck you people think of us.  However, our egos are taking a slight dent (I said slight, don't get all crazy assed) because we keep writing, and you people don't say anything about it!  Well, most of you.  We do have our loyal victims... I mean... commenters that make our day a hell of a lot brighter; and thank you for that. 

We're only here for you, gentle readers!  Even the people who write in with advice don't even comment to tell us if they like the advice or not.  Rude!  After all the trouble we go through to bring the snark and the lolz to you people, you'd think you could as least comment once in a while with a "Heh" or a "Kudos" or even a "Who the fuck do you bitches think you are?" sort of deal.  I would even be happy with a little annoying smiley!  ;)

I've been inspired lately by this:  LINK!  This chick holds an Anonymous Monday on her blog, and we need one here.  We're going to give you a chance, one chance to redeem yourselves for your silence.  Comment on this blog as anonymous.  For those trolls and lurkers who don't know, click on "Comments" below.  Then you use your keyboard to type characters into the big white box.  See that box?  You can't miss it.  Then you use your mouse to click on that little arrow-thingy that points down.  You see that?  Okay.  So click on that, then there's a bunch of mumbo-jumbo down there.  Click on "Anonymous".  It's at the bottom!  Then use your mouse again to click on the button that says, "Post Comment".  Trust me, it will work.  For real.  You have just made your first comment!  Aren't you computer savvy!

We quite often will comment back to you, or someone else will.  Then you can check back later, or if you're me, completely fucking stalk the eff out of the blog until someone does write something that you can respond to.  It will open a dialogue, thus making The Betties' blogging experience more fulfilling, and thereby making yours more fulfilling in turn.  A happy blogger is a comment-heavy blogger.

Today's theme:

What can The Betties do to improve the blog, to make it more enticing for you, the reader?

Discuss.  (And when I say 'Discuss', I fucking mean 'DISCUSS, DAMMIT!' in the comment section).

That's all, 

Twills

XOXO

Twills' Pills

So it's confession time here at One For the Road, and boy do I have a confession to make. Something so dark and sinister that... Oh hell. It's really no big deal, and you're going to think I'm a pussy when I tell you what it is anyway:

I have a pathological fear of getting sick with a seasonal cold or flu. Not just because things like this happen. The thought of bronchitis alone can send me into a panic attack! It's not just the fevers, the aching, the snot and the phlegm. It's the antibiotics.

Yes, people. I'm scared of pills. It's part of the reason why I had three kids before I turned 27! I can't swallow them, for one thing. I am psychologically incapable of swallowing medication. My brain just makes my throat close up tighter than a tween at a chastity convention. Not just the physical act of swallowing tablets or capsules, but the very words "tablets" and "capsules" just gross me out anyway. Period.

If the actual (gag) antibiotic (gag) pill (gag) is not enough to make you want to run screaming from the room, think of the side effects. Itchy skin. Black, hairy tongue. Yeast infections. EWWWW!!!!!!!! Why, why in the name of Buddha would anyone want to take a medicine that makes you need to take more medicine that you have to shove up your hoochie? Especially when you're already ill and miserable to begin with?!

Though you all know that in my life everything is about me, so when it's all about me it has to be worse than it could ever be for you. Because not only do I have a fear of being sick, and a fear of taking medicine... I'm allergic to certain kinds of medicine. So that when I get something like Bronchitis, I don't just get to take the ordinary antibiotics that most people get to take. Hells no.

I get to come out of that pharmacy with a big old box that says, "Canada's Leading Treatment for Chlamydia". Not only do I have to take the medicine for the clap, it has to say it all over the box because there is no generic version that I can take. And! I live in a town where the population is less than 2000, and there is only one drugstore. A drugstore where people that I know and see all the time are working.

When I get sick, I am traveling. When I go to pick up my clap meds, I'm out driving to the next town, or hell even into the city so that I can pick them up and still remain slightly anonymous. The amount of fossil fuels I burn are nothing compared to the unbelievable feeling of treating my Chlamydia away from the prying eyes of my fellow townsfolk.

Yes, I know I don't actually have Chlamydia! But what if I did? They'd be talking about it for years! I still haven't lived down the time I went to pick up the kids from school in a mini-dress with electric blue tights, or that time my two year old yelled out, "Hello you old lady!" to one of the women collecting for the Salvation Army at Christmas time... There were those few incidences at the pub where there was whiskey and dancing on tables involved. Or the time that I told the Jehovah's Witness octogenarian to fuck off...

Add The Clap into that mix and dammit, I'd have to move! I'm just not ready to come out of the Chlamydia Closet yet. How about you? Discuss.




That's all,

Twills
XOXO

How To Be Milfy: Gay Math

If you've been following along with Twills' lessons on "How to Be Milfy", you are well on your way to attaining Milf Status, if you haven't already. Of course if you're a Milf, there may come a time in your life when you will be ready to take on a lover. Say it with me: Lov-ah! You're going to want this lover to be some hot young stud, at least for the first one. Then you can branch out and experiment later.



Don't you dare say the word "Cougar" around me. It's derogatory, and Milf is just so.... not... at all...



I know you all need guidance. You're out there lusting after tight young things like Zac Efron and Taylor Lautner. (Really? Ew! Who are you people?) Not me. Heck no! I'm still not over Bruce Springsteen! I do however, have a formula for you which will make Lover Selection easier.



The trick is to not go too young. If you go too young, it's considered morally suspect. You can't just be a 50 year old woman, cruising up to the local high school to scope out guys. That's kind of creepy! Really, would you want to have the dude doing the walk of shame in the morning and run into you son, who's sits behind him in math class? Awkward!



This is where the "Gay Math" comes in. The gays, you see, they've had this shit down for a long time so it's not revolutionary. As usual, the gays are waiting for the hetero world to catch up with them, so that's not new either. What is the matter with people? Get with the program!



What is this "Gay Math Formula", you say?





Take your age. Divide it by 2. You may need a calculator for this if you're verging on geezer status. Heh.



Take that number, and add 7. Seven is the magic number.



For example, I am 30 years old. I am fine with this, so you can all just fuck right off. I'm 30 and I am still young. Young! Divide that by two, you get 15. When you add seven, you get 22. So that's my magic number.



In accordance with the rules of Gay Math, the youngest possible age for my potential lover to be is 22. Otherwise I would be bordering on the immoral. I know that people get off on breaking taboos, but there is time for that later. You have to start out slowly, and this is just a guideline to get you started.



You can see how this formula is perfect, because the number changes as you age. If I were 80, I could go for someone who is 47. Get it? Perfect! This formula is also not only reserved for Milfs. Obviously since we've stolen it from The Gays, it's also appropriate for child-free people, heterosexual men and generally all walks of life as long as you're legal! It even works in reverse, if you subtract seven from your age, then multiply it by two. 46 is my number for how old I can go without it being creepy. Dammit! I'm still missing out on Springsteen.



So you tell me. What is your magic number in Gay Math? Do you have any stories about any time you've violated the rule and have had a negative consequence? Feel free also to disagree with me and call me a horrible person. Do tell all, or if you're shy you can mail them to The Betties at laynie2@gmail.com. We never reveal our sources. ;) Discuss.



That's all,


Twills

XOXO

How to Be Milfy: The Hair

It has not escaped my notice, bitches. I see you out there, driving around in your mini-vans with what Michael K from dlisted calls a "Dead Possum" on your heads. Your hair is your "crowning glory" so they say. You've just got to get that shit right. Well heck, I can tell you what ain't right.


Yes, chicas. We are talking about Kate Gosselin Hair. Is the Minivan Majority's favourite mother of eight famous for a lot more than just her uterus? She's actually setting trends now besides inspiring young females to take their birth control? No way!


Laides, do you really want to be caught with the same hairstyle as a woman who chose an Ed Hardy wearing, mid-life crisis having, cradle robbing douchebag as the father of her swarm of children? Especially when the first victim -- her head -- has decided that this hair "style" is no longer for her?


I know you'll say, "But it's all business at the front and party at the back!"


"No", I say, "That was the mullet". Trust me, in 2010, a mullet (or fullet: female mullet) is cooler than Possum Head! By far -- see Kristen Stewart.


I'm not going to advocate on behalf of a certain hairstyle. A gal should try whatever suits her fancy. Just know that there are certain things that will never look good. Let's consider her hair as the number ONE "style" that should never be worn, not even if you happen to get your head caught in a food processor or sucked up the vacuum.


In fact, if you're like me and are prone to getting your hair caught in the vacuum cleaner, perhaps it would be wise to keep a wig or an array of hats on hand. That way if you are inadvertently left with Kate Gosselin hair or something resembling such through no fault of your own, you can cover that mess while you're on the way to the salon to get it taken care of by a professional. Because that hot mess needs professional help. Pronto.


Then again, that must have been where those bitches with the bad hair were off to. They just didn't have any wigs or cute hats on hand at the time. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for all of this. Nobody besides Kate would go around looking like that on purpose.


Right?


Right?!!!




That's all,

Twills
XOXO

Beware of Trolls

I am not a baby person. Though I've had loads of them, (not quite Duggar styles), I'm not really fond of the creatures. Sure, I love my own babies and the babies of my friends and relatives, but I'm more into them once they actually gain a little personality. When they start to smile and giggle and do cute things.

I have a confession to make: I think most babies are ugly. Not mine, of course. (or, you know... yours, particularly) Nothing ugly could ever be produced by such fine specimens as the DILF and myself. Heh. This is not a popular statement; people just aren't allowed to say that they think babies are ugly. The moms in the horrid jeans would lynch me if they knew I think this way!

I have this acquaintance who shall remain nameless. I met her at work years ago, and she had just come off of maternity leave when we'd met. She loved her little Princess! Mommy's girl! The most beautiful girl in the world! Talked about her constantly, so much so that everyone at work was sick to death of hearing about every single last detail of Princess's life. What Princess plays with, what Princess wears, what Princess eats, how Princess poops.

Yes, people. Poops. We had to hear all about it. Every. Fucking. Day.

Said acquaintance was desperate to have people come over to her house and experience the wonders of the Princess for themselves. I tried to get out of it... I put it off for a good three months. Everyone else at work had met Princess, and I was the last holdout. She became obsessed with having me meet Princess. I could not go anywhere or do anything without my every move being scrutinized and haunted by The Spirit of Princess.

Eventually I thought that the only way I was going to get any peace at work was to go ahead and allow myself to be blessed by the child. So I agreed to a visit. In the name of all that is holy!

When I arrived she had the baby up in her arms, and all I could really see was a bundle of pink frills, like the baby had been hosed down with Pepto Bismol. Then, it turned. it's. head.


And I gasped audibly.



Uh oh!


Little Princess looked as if she was an 80 year old man trapped in the body of an infant.


In the few milliseconds since my gasp, my life flashed before my eyes. Underneath her mommy obsessions, my co-worker was a super nice person and was a good friend. I didn't want to hurt her feelings, because I do know that every mother really does think that their child is the most beautiful child they've ever seen. Thoughts swam through my pea-brain as I thought about jumping out the window and heading for Mexico, and I cursed my other co-workers for not warning me in advance that I would be faced with such a situation.

So I instantly became cheery and exclaimed, "Now THERE'S a BABY!" in a high-pitched sing-song voice.


Oh, sweet relief!!!


Of course the woman thought that I shared her exact viewpoint that there wasn't a finer baby, not one so beautiful since Celine Dion produced that immaculate specimen, Rene-Charles. I could almost hear her singing, "I can't believe I've been touched by an angel with love", beating on her chest and doing the signature Celine lunge.

The rest of the visit went quite well, and my spectacular save is one that should be written in the history books! Have any of you ever been confronted with a similar situation? Do you secretly think that newborns are ugly? Discuss.


That's all,

Twills
XOXO

Introducing!

Here at "One for the Road", the girls and I have decided that our ideas are just too good to keep to ourselves. We want to get the rest of the world involved. Screw philanthropy! We want to give you advice; advice that we feel is worth following.

Therefore, we have decided that in the best interest of mankind, we will be taking submissions from our adoring public. We have deigned to allow you, gentle readers, the privilege of asking Pina, Brans, Twills (That's me!), questions about any type of relationship issue you might be having.



We're kind of like Dear Abby, without all of that emo bullshit.



Now of course we have qualifications, dammit! Brans is married to a big hunk of burning love, I'm a baby machine and I'm pretty sure that Pina is *gasp* not a virgin. (Just don't tell her that I've said that!) Altogether we've been in a wide variety of relationships in the past, and in general we're just really bossy. Who better to help you with your woes than us?


Send any questions, concerns or hell, if your man is a demon in the sack: bragging rights, to: laynie2@gmail.com. Don't even bother freaking out. All names and/or aliases will be kept in the strictest confidence. Tighter than an octogenarian nun.


We will each answer you in turn, and responses will be posted here on Fridays. (Unless of course one of us comes down with VD again)


So get down to it, people. Don't be shy! Keep those relationship queries filtering in.



That's all,

Twills
XOXO

Maintaining a Degree of Fuckability: Manscaping

This one is for the men. Are you hairy? Do you shave your face, and have a difficult time deciding where to stop once you get closer to the neck? Do you have fuzzy butt cheeks? Do you resemble a plushie? Some women like the chest hair. Especially women who were teenagers in the eighties. *sidenote: Someone please explain this attraction to me?* I'm pretty sure it has something to do with Burt Reynolds. Mmmm.... Burt Reynolds....

However!

What about *ahem* down below? Can you see the tree for the forest?

Now everyone knows I'm a shallow bitch; I make no attempts to hide that. I know everyone has their individual preferences, but I have yet to meet a woman who prefers to date men who have excessively hairy crotches. Trim that shit up, boys! No woman wants to choke out on pubes, or get them stuck in her teeth. Part of "Maintaining a Degree of Fuckability" for men is to keep the body hair in check.

If you don't want to go through the pain of waxing your back, butt and chest, etc., at least take some scissors to the pubes! Ain't no shame or blame in maintaining a short bush, especially if you're expecting women to wax off the whole shebang.

The reason why pubic hair even exists on a human is because it retains scent, thereby attracting sexual partners to us while in the wild. If being up in the club is the wildest it gets for you, there's really no reason to have any pubic hair at all, especially in this day and age where cleanliness and germophobia are so important. (No, not only to me!) There is a very fine line between scent and stank, in my opinion.

I have spoken with some men who say that sexual partners they've had have thought it was weird that they trim their pubes. I, however, would appreciate the effort and the maintenance. Some men would say, "But trimming is gay!" To this I would say, "It's 2010! Is calling someone 'gay' really an insult?" Anyhow, I guarantee that most gays already know this shit anyway, having to deal with it from both sides of the equation, and it's just the heteros who are so behind the times.

Come on, heteros! Step up! Shave it. Wax it. Trim it. Nair it! Hell, scratch that. Don't Nair it. It burns. Burning is not a sensation we would ever want in the nether regions, even if it's not accompanied by VD or UTIs.

Now. Discuss. Ladies: Do you agree? Men: What say you? How does your garden grow?

That's all,

Twills
XOXO

How to be Mifly: The Packaging

A big part of being Milfy and Maintaining a Degree of Fuckability is how you dress for the part. This is not about size, this is about knowing how to dress for your size and your particular shape. Over at You Look Fab, Angie has put together what she calls "The Flop Proof Outfit". You can read about it here. You can also refer to this outfit as the "What Not to Wear" casual outfit.

Now I know it's kind of boring, but hell, you can't break the rules unless you know them first. Not everyone can strut it like me in a pair of knee-high silver Doc Martens and a skirt the size of a dinner napkin. This will come later. I myself have spent many years dressing as if I were several sizes larger, but after faking the confidence for a while, eventually I found that I actually had it for real. (Now if I could just tone the ego down slightly, I think I'd have it going on.)


So the first thing, The Jeans. Mom jeans. You know you've seen them. High-waisted, saggy assed, pleated, acid washed, tapered leg, hell, even gunty. *gasp* Yes. Gunty! Just generally ill-fitting and ugly. Get rid of them! Don't even give them to Goodwill, cut them up into tiny pieces so that no one will be able to wear them EVER AGAIN. I'm not against recycling, I'm just against bad fashion.

Get some that fit well, and the darker the better. This might take you years! Once you find a pair of jeans that fit you perfectly, stock up on them! It's not as if they ever go out of style. You don't have to go for the skinnies if you think they make you look like a bowling pin, but the thing is, we never look as big as we think we are. (And they fit great into your boots!) Take a girlfriend or your best gay with you, someone who can be honest and who will tell you if you look awful. Try on many different styles, even if you think you hate them. Also, if you have the problem that I have with the waist band gaping at the back because you actually have an ass, it's okay to get that shit tailored. You will wear them more if you don't have to keep hiking them up from exposing your butt crack. Just say no to crack, but don't hike them up under your tits, either.

Okay, so next is the shirt. On You Look Fab it says "shirt or girly top". Fuck that. Titty top. You want to show off what you've got. If you're worried about stray motor-boaters, then wear a camisole underneath for some coverage. But I'm telling you, let those girls out to play once in a while. You don't have to push them up under your chin like Jessica Simpson, but live a little.

Jacket. This means "tailored jacket". Something that has a shape. You can find a combat-jacket that nips in at the waist if that's your style. Your options are unlimited. There are blazers, motorcycle jackets, leather, pleather, even a cardigan if you live in Mr. Rogers' neighbourhood, which I do. ;)

Heels. Yes. Heels. Again, you don't have to go all porny with the shoes if you don't feel comfortable that way. Stilettos are better, but if you like those little coloured ballet flats feel free to wear them if you're worried about bunions. And don't just get black! Have fun with the shoes. Try some boots, even.

Statement bag. I fail miserably at this. The statement that my bag makes is that I'm a Mom and I have to carry everyone else's shit around. This is not the ideal. You don't have to match it with the shoes, but for Buddha's sake don't use the same one until it falls apart. I keep all of my stuff in little wallets, change purses or tiny make-up bags so that when I need to switch purses everything is easy to switch over.

Let us say that you're like me and have a problem with authority. You want to break the rules! Break one at a time. See how it works for you, and if it does, break a few more! Add some accessories! Play with colours and fabrics! But most of all, have fun. Strut. Say, "I am Milfy, hear me roar!" *rawr*; and let yourself believe it.

Next on my list: Manscaping.



That's all,

Twills
XOXO

Maintaining a Degree of Fuckability: How To Be Milfy

Milf. Stacy's Mom. Cougar.

Let's have a musical selection, shall we?








What I'd like to impress upon you today, people, is how important it is to stay hot. I'm not going to lie, I'm a petty bitch. I go to this website on a fairly regular basis to have an immature giggle at the things people are wearing in public. Friends, you don't want to be spotted on People of Walmart Dot Com with your ass hanging out.

In this coming week, I'd like to impress upon you the importance of maintaining a degree of fuckability, and we will discuss various ways to achieve and then maintain this goal. Now by no means do I claim to be the leading expert in this field, but I do have some experience with birthin' babies and then having people actually want to have sex with me afterward. I hope to share what I have learned with you all, and also learn to take my own advice. (Tell me I'm not the only one who suddenly realises in mid-January that she's turned into a sasquatch since the beginning of winter! Rule number one: Keep that shit trimmed/shaved/waxed/BURNT the fuck off)

First up: Maintaining a Degree of Fuckability: Mom Jeans Are Nobody's Friend.

That's all,

Twills
XOXO

Top Ten Reasons Why I Can't be a 'Mommy Blogger'

1) I'm kind of self-absorbed

2) I want to tell Calliou to "Fuck off"

3) There really isn't enough time in the day to write down all of the funny shit they say *note to self: buy tape recorder*

4) I can't refrain from making sarcastic comments or pointing out fallacies in logic while watching Nickolodeon.

5) I'm very, very fond of saying bad words.

6) It's becoming increasingly difficult for me to pretend that your kids are as cute and charming as my kids.

7) I'm pretty sure that Handy Manny is a demon in the sack.

8) It would detract from my busy online shopping schedule.

9) I'd much rather talk about smut.

10) I try to avoid other moms in real life, so why should I seek them out on the internet?


That's all,

Twills
XOXO