The limit DOES exist.

I realize I'm ageist, but I think there's an age limit for using the term "friends with benefits." I haven't pinpointed the specifics, but I think it's before age 50.

I'm 40 and only say it jokingly. I also hate it, because at least half the people offering it want ONLY the benefits, but think they'll have better luck with the LADIES if they dress it up with a cute little bow.

Theory: You can't say "FWB" once you're getting mail from the AARP. That's...the rules of abbreviations.

Also, I don't know if anyone said that phrase before Alanis Morissette, but that's not what she meant, shitheel.

This reflection brought to you by a 54-year-old man on OkCupid, username "Just_Discreet_FWB," sending me three messages in less than 24 hours, either not remembering or not caring that he's messaged me twice before. I am clearly memorable. Either that or he's just old and can't keep track.

P.S. I'm not hating on 54. I'd get on 54. But THIS 54-year-old has the ick on him.

Star-Kris-Krossed Love

Happy Valentine's Day, my loves. Have a splendid and safe day.

I'll be spending mine orally fixated on a trough of manicotti, and later making sweet, sweet love to an irresponsible number of Godiva salted caramels. (Candy-based promiscuity is the best promiscuity.)

See also: watching Friends with Benefits again, because Justin Timberlake singing Kris Kross is EVERYONE's Valentine.

Love and many kisses,
Smug  

"Swallow my doubt, turn it inside out..."

I had far too many feelings yesterday resulting from being social, so of course now that I have a free day to myself, as soon as I woke up they all came rushing back, and it was like a team of squirrels took over my brain and started playing emotional volleyball -- "Confused about this!" *pass* "Insecure about that!" *pass* "Oh, hey, what about having kids, wanna rehash that one?" *pass*

Right. So I'll be here all day with a slow drip of coffee martinis, watching comfort movies. I dare you to be sad when Justin Timberlake is serenading Mila Kunis with Kris Kross's "Jump." (Plus...dat ass.)

Or, hell, this seems like a pretty solid state of mind to finally go see
Inside Out and just embrace it all. (Obviously with a venti spiked Starbucks and a big fuck-off tray of theater nachos. That's just being prepared; I learned that shit in Girl Scouts.)