you know what, i love this ad. i love this model. and no i don’t want to horse around or take a shower with her. i just like to look at her because she’s pretty. i don’t see any reason to deny that.

plus the spot really makes me feel good. it’s gives me that “unbearable lightness of being” feeling (the sabina character, not the tereza character).

i mean c’mon, there are party lights everywhere, even on the canoe.

there are fireworks inside of a heart.

there’s a full moon surrounded by swirling clouds.

there are chandeliers in the teepee.

there’s dancing performed in beautiful red underwear and brown suede boots.

there are freckles.

there’s a catchy song.

and there’s a great rack, which probably wasn’t increased two cups sizes by the push-up bra like aerie claims but who gives a flying monkey?  it makes me feel less tense and dreamy for 30 seconds without any side effects. booyah!

and no, this ad doesn’t lead me to believe that the whole world is going to hell in a hand basket because it’s pushing sexuality on tweens.  if we raise our girls right and give them a strong moral foundation, then bra commercials, shows with the kardashians, and lindsay lohan’s antics won’t turn them into total sluts to define their self-worth.  besides this isn’t a modern day problem created by advertisers.  i was stuffing my bra with toilet paper at age 14. some girls aspire to look sexy. i’m not really bothered by that. being sexy and feminine shouldn’t produce shame, at least not at an age where we begin to have those feelings. it may not be for everyone and that’s ok, too. what we need to teach young girls is to accept who they are, and accept others who aren’t like them.

it’s all good.

here’s another one to prove it. can you say flowers everywhere!

i had major reservations about this. i really don’t believe in this stuff. but i’m an open-minded chick so i thought why not give it a whirl.

i signed up for match.com.

now i know a lot of people have met their mates on online dating sites. and i do just about everything else online but somehow the buck stopped with meeting that special someone.  i’m of the belief that finding a person who makes you blush and gush is more of an organic thing, not a data thing.  that chemistry (pheromones, endorphins, dopamine, oxycontin and the heart racing chemical) is the thing. and to get these chemicals surging you actually need to be near the person, not looking at their picture, facts and figures. and definitely not reading about them “in their own words.”

well…

i guess i should have lied about my age. i can’t tell you how many men are looking  for women younger than they are. ok, i can tell you. EVERY FUCKING ONE OF THEM. here’s one funny example. i saw this guy who works at my company on match. he stood out because a week ago i went to a meeting and this vp i had never met before was checking me out to the point where i became uncomfortable. what’s his status on match?  “44 y.o. man looking for women 30-42.”

what the fuck is wrong with women your own age or a few years older? in person, i’m eye candy, but on match, you wouldn’t even consider me. seriously!?!? that’s ok because i thought you looked way too uptight anyway.

which brings me to another problem i had with match.  i don’t want people i work with seeing me try to find a fucking date. omg that’s awkward. i saw the profiles of a few people i know and just giggled with embarrassment. i can’t tell you why, but the whole thing seemed so silly. and i wasn’t reacting well to the selling of oneself as a suitable suitor.

i’ll tell ya what else i wasn’t reacting well to. fucking creepers winking at me, liking my photos, or emailing me a sales pitch. EEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwww.  the email system is within match so it’s not like they invaded my personal email, but the exposure made me recoil with fear and loathing. i wanted to poke at all of them with a virtual stick and say, “go on, geeeeet out of here.”

for a match based on data, why doesn’t the actual data mean shit? i indicated in my profile that i love summer, sun, warm weather and water sports. winter bums me out something fierce.  so why did mr. avid skier hit on me?  i’m not saying i wouldn’t do a long weekend in vail, but i know what i like.  i also indicated that my political views are very liberal and mentioned being a recovering catholic. and conservative church-going protestant dude emailed me? we all know that mary matalin and james carville have pulled off being happy with opposing views, but they sir, are the exception.

then when i was in public somewhere, at the gym, train, grocery store, i kept seeing the faces of people on match. if my eyes met with a stranger, i was sure he was looking at me because he recognized me from match.  i’m paranoid by nature, but that site fucking haunted me!

some of you may have read kernut the blonde’s blog posts about her match.com dating experiences. the posts were hilarious. well, i didn’t get that far.

i gave it the old college try, but i quit my 3-day free trial before getting charged. it turns out match.com and me are oil and vinegar.  

i’ve done a very bad thing, punkers. i went to mcdonalds today. boy, was it fucking good. normally i try to hide my guilty little pleasure because most people i know would be appalled to learn that i like to eat mcdonalds. “i’d never put that shit in my body.“  but you’d drink a coors lite?

so not only was that shit tasty, it was cheap. i’m a quarter pounder with cheese girl (although i recently discovered i like the angus bacon and cheese snack wrap when i just need a little something). a QPC extra value meal is only $5.79 and includes the world famous fries and an icy cold soda. now if i went to a pub or a fancy steak place for a burger and fries, we’re talking $10-$20 plus tipping some wait person with too much flare.

and the calories would be like doubled. here’s a breakdown of my meal:

quarter pounder with cheese: 510 calories

medium fries: 380 calories

bottled water: 0 calories (i get the water because soda is too many calories and it’s only good the first couple sips, unlike franzia, which is well worth the calories. see that’s the thing about my calories…i’m all for racking em up as long as there’s flavor involved. nothing worse than consuming calories on something that doesn’t taste great.)

back to the math. if i ate a fancy burger and fries at 2x as many calories, that’s over 1700 calories. so i get my fix and don’t do too much damage. you say whatever, i say brilliant.

let’s talk fries. i add salt that comes out too fast from those little packets they give you. yeah i add salt to that shit. you eat chinese food. druthers. i like to eat my mcdonald’s fries one at a time. this way you really savor the flavor. eating them a bunch at a time is like chugging a good tequila. protocol. now truth be told mcdonald’s fries actually used to taste better awhile ago when they fried them in a mixture of about 7% cottonseed oil and 93% beef tallow (you come here for the thorough research, don’t ya?). but then all the people who really want to eat them but torture themselves by not complained about the high cholesterol in the fries so MickeyDs switched to pure vegetable oil. sacrilege.

and before y’all go asking me if saw supersize me or fast food nation, no i purposefully did not see these movies. why would i take my own grease sunshine away? i don’t want to know what ingredients are used, or to examine the meat packing industry, or any such nonsense. you say irresponsible. i say lighten the fuck up. i’m not eating 3 meals a day at the golden arches for 30 days in a row and consuming over 5000 calories a day without exercising. so stupid.

i get that there are better foods for you that taste just as good, and even mcdonalds offers healthy food options (although i don’t konw why anyone would go to mcdonalds for a salad when there are burgers, nuggets and fries on the menu. besides that’s what saladworks is for.) but i think a little self-indulgence is healthy. denial will be the death of you. if you’re down with this premise, you might also want to read my diets are dumb post.

i’m tired of doing the walk of shame from my beamer into a mcdonalds hoping no one will see me. (oh btw i dine in because, i forgot to mention above, my world famous fries must be hot.) from now on i’m going to hold my head up high, get my QPC on and hope mcdonalds is doing the monopoly game. it’s back by the way and 1 in 4 wins!

how do you eat your fries?

do you dine-in or drive-through?

what are you ashamed of?

do you also eat at yo quiero taco bell?

ps: you can blame this silly post on denny delvecchio who commanded i write a new post. bet you’re wishing you hadn’t, huh denny? anyway, thanks for the encouragement.

this week i became a professional shoplifter. lucky for you i’m willing to share my know-how.

this wasn’t like the amateur shoplifting i did back in my college days when i’d stuff steaks down my pants at the ac-a-me because my iron-starved blood apparently wasn’t being enriched by grilled cheeses. and it wasn’t at the grocery store either where it’s cake to steal because there aren’t any sensors, cameras or security guards. it was at motherfucking macy’s where it takes mad skillz to shoplift.

my new soia & kyo coat. tres chic don't ya think?

so i’m there during my lunch hour trying on winter coats. i found a soia & kyo coat i loved but was torn between two sizes. this was a very fitted, high-wasted number with oversized buttons. the size 8 fit perfect but i thought it might be too snug if i had on a bulky sweater or suit jacket. the size 10 didn’t look as good with the extra fabric but gave me wiggle room. so i grabbed a michael kors blazer, put it on over my lightweight sweater and tried on both coats again.

i was still torn so i asked the sales woman who told me to go with the 8. i was like done! i had been there over an hour after hitting the clinique counter and trying on a bazillion coats. i needed to get back to work so i quickly put on my puffy coat and went to pay.

on my way out i set off the alarms. the security guard asked to check my bags. i figured the sales women forgot to take the sensor off. the security guard frisked my new coat and went through my cosmetics. nothing. he apologized. i said no worries, if the sensor was still on, i’d want it removed so i wouldn’t set off alarms everywhere. he asked to see my receipts, which i gladly presented. he apologized profusely.

i left the store and set the alarms off again and glanced back at the security guard; he said it was probably just my cell phone. i got back to the office, took of my coat and realized i still had on the MK blazer. sensor and all.

the michael kors blazer that could have been mine all mine

the security guard never asked me to open my coat. if he had i would have died of embarrassment.

so if you want to steal right out from under all of security, here are the 3 simple steps you need to follow:

1. dress as a corporate communications professional
2. buy some stuff so you have receipts to show
3. wear the free merchandise under your puffy coat

oh c’mon don’t judge. it’s not like i just told you how to make a bomb. besides, you read this post well-knowing i would tell you how to shoplift so that makes you an accessory.

(i’m kidding. you’re off the hook. i took the jacket back the next day and hung it right back on the hanger that it came from. but if i had a sensor remover . . . )

if you recently began a diet as your new year’s resolution, i’m not apologizing for this post. i’m telling you to stop. you’re welcome.

am i in any way qualified to talk about this? fuck no.

i’m not fat. i’m not thin.

i’m not a doctor and i don’t play one on the oprah network or infomercials.

i don’t read self, shape, women’s health or prevention magazines unless they’re the only choice other than time, sports illustrated or parents magazines in the doctor’s waiting room.

i have no idea what gluten-free, pro-biotics, pre-biotics, omega 3s, superfruits, and night shade foods are.

i’ve  never dieted except that once i tried atkins 20 years ago and almost passed out on day 3 because i was only eating bacon or maybe it was from my halitosis that resulted from the low carb ketosis. (i agree, that’s too many -sis words.) 

i just know what i see.

diets don’t work. if they work at all and the person doesn’t give up after the first week or month, they don’t work over the long run. maybe a successful dieter will keep the weight off for a year to two, but then the old habits creep back and BAM the dieter turns into a yo-yo dieter. i have seen it eleventy billion times over. show me one hard core dieter that hasn’t tried a dozen diets throughout his or her lifetime? all yielding the same results: weight loss. happiness. weight gain. depression. new diet eventually.

why don’t they work? self-denial. it causes a perverse obsession with that which the person denying him/herself is renouncing. it’s a fucking mental thing. (this is the synopsis for my new book but i’m guessing my book editor will probably want to revise my adjectives somewhat.)

as soon as you can’t have something, you’re going to crave it hard. then do something completely neurotic like binge on that shit as though you were a mountain lion that hasn’t eaten in days and has fresh kill in your claws. then you’re going to be all “fuck it, i suck” and eat everything that isn’t nailed down or you’re going to starve yourself which is going to cause real physical cravings because your body needs regular fuel in varieties like dark leafy greens, franzia, imported cheese and crusty baguette.

it’s the same concept as celibate catholic priests denying themselves the sex and then getting a perverse obsession with it and resorting to the wrongest, most mentally ill behavior out there: pedophilia.  now you might say pedophilia is more complex than this. so is weight and body image. but i’m here to break it down for you, remember? you might also say that it’s not celibacy that makes priests pedophiles, but that pedophiles just gravitate to professions where there are children around. but then i have to ask why the same high percentage of pedophiles isn’t found in the teaching profession. maybe i’ll leave this part out of my book.

self-denial. it’s not good for the human soul.

and you know another reason diets don’t work: portion control. i love this time of year when all of these jenny craig and nutrisystems people start advertising their programs by promoting a week of free meals. oh sure their menus consist of “all the food you love and chef-inspired creations–prepared by registered dietitians.” first of all, the meals are fucking tiny. denial! you’ll be hungry all the fucking time. second of all, they’re frozen foods. again, not qualified, but i thought one of the tenets of healthy eating was to avoid processed foods and eat fresh foods, not “fresh-tasting frozen foods.”

what does work? i’d have to say probably those stomach rubber bands. they remove the mental from the equation. they actually make it so you can’t eat too much. so if you’re craving a greasy pub burger, probably the most you can get down without getting sick is the snack-size burger in the mcdonald’s kid’s meal. which is a fucking tease.

if you’re not obese and don’t really qualify for the surgery or wouldn’t risk the possible complications, here’s what will really work, or the advice i plan to put in my book:

eat whatever the hell you want. 

don’t skip meals. not even breakfast. feel full and satisfied.

you like a giant blueberry muffin for breakfast? eat it.

you like a roast beef special and ruffles with ridges for lunch? eat them.

you like a cowboy rib eye and loaded baked potato for dinner? eat them.

when the dessert is chocolate gateau? you better motherfucking eat it.

when you stop denying yourself, you’ll stop binging and overeating. you’ll start to realize you don’t need this shit all the time. you won’t eat like this everyday. and even if you do, just throw in a salad the next day. whatever you do, don’t beat yourself up or that dirty little cycle will start all over again. avoid the mental thing.

oh yeah and get off your motherfucking ass once in awhile.

ps: i promise to do real research for my book but not to offer any qualified advice.

pps: don’t you dare steal this book idea. i mean the outline and sample chapters are practically jumping off the page.

ppps: if you’re a book agent, i’m sure you’re interested already. you can email me at pattypunker at gmail dot com.

pppps: what should the title be: “diets are dumb” or ”the punker’s guide to losing weight” or something else?

we all know how treating my sacroiliac joint injury holistically turned out. if you’re new here, you can catch up on this epic fail here. so tomorrow i’m going all western medicine on this shit and having an injection into my joint. or as my daughter succinctly put it “a shot in the ass.” provided it doesn’t fucking snow too much that it gets cancelled or the roads are impassable. fucking snow is ruining my life. in preparation for the injection i’ve had to stop taking my prescription anti-inflammatory and all medicines that affect blood clotting. this hasn’t made patty a happy girl.

imagine no advil after a friday or saturday night.

and i’ve had increased joint paint.

if i’ve made these sacrifices for nothing and this thing is cancelled due to snow, i’m going to go ballistic.

to say i’m a bit anxious is an understatement. i’ve had weeks of anticipation since this was the first appointment i could get due to the holidays and my doctor’s two week trip to italy.

plus, i have to get this thing done while awake. read: aware.

a big ass needle into my ass and i won’t be sedated!

the doc has to use x-ray guidance to direct the needle into the joint. like this:

except this patient has a nicer ass than me

then BAM! she injects a contrast dye to make sure that the medication only goes into the joint. what if she motherfucking misses?

she better not have been drinking the night before or had too much coffee. i'll drop kick the bitch if she brings a shakey hand to the table.

after that she injects a small mixture of anesthetic and cortisone into my ass. small mixture? she clearly has no idea of my tolerance for medication. i’m conditioned, punkers. shoot me up hard. i don’t want to go through this again.

so the question isn’t whether i take a xanax before the procedure. the question is do i take a .25, .5, or 1 mg xanax. (when stockpiling, it’s important to keep different dosages for every occasion.) mr. punker has to drive me home after the procedure, so i’m pretty sure tomorrow will be 5 mg xanax afternoon.

i’d much rather have a little twilight anesthesia in my IV, but still . . . don’t ya love a girl who can self-sedate?

are they over yet?

them, the holidays. they over?

no, of course not. we of excess and gluttony need one more round of overindulgence and self-destruction. motherfucking awesome.

i’d like to tell you that i’m all resolved, absolved and involved in the new year. but, i’m still looking out at all of you wondering how you have it in you to remain spirited, social, and drug-free.

i always wonder what those of you with faith do when things seem dark and hopeless? i mean isn’t that why you have faith, so things don’t seem all dark and hopeless? at least being an atheist, i’m not pissed at god for feeling low and estranged. one less person to be mad at and blame is kind of a win, don’t ya think? unless of course god is within, so god is me; therefore, i’m just feeling more wrath with myself. that actually sounds about right.

oh i know i should be all ”to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.“

turn, turn, turn.

but i don’t fucking get it. every time should be a time to laugh, embrace, and dance. fuck the times to weep, mourn, break down, hate, lose, etc. are they really necessary? i’m done with those times, just like i’m over the ass sore that is the holidays.

so i wont talk about those times in 2010 that were supposed to provide some kind of ‘leveling,’ ya know to keep us all humble. like the bp oil spill, teabaggers election wins, jessie james’ infidelity, arizona’s anti-immigration law, bristol palin’s psa, prop 8 supporters, bill donahue blaming the gays for pedophilia, etc.

thrash, thrash, thrash.

this ain’t no grammys, no oscars, no disco, no fooling around, this is just the shit i like from 2010 presented in categories i like:

indie album: high violet by the national (it’s my new testament. their album, alligator, is my 13 commandments. hey, i’m very religious — god is within me, remember — so 10 commandments weren’t enough.)

pop song i couldn’t resist: love the way you lie by eminem and rhianna. (shut up, it’s like a punk pop song. ‘sides, bitch got pipes and i totally sound like her when i wail in the car.)

ukele song: http://bugginword.com/2010/09/24/uke-me-away/ (ok, i may be self-absorbed, but i still suffer.)

breaththrough movie: the kids are alright (color me a lezzy cuz i have the hots for annette bening and juliane moore. then again there’s mark ruffalo. so color me bi-curious.)

salacious sex scene in a movie: casey affleck and jessica alba in killer inside me (not for the faint-hearted and really sick to like any part of this ultra violent film. but my dreams don’t lie.)

rocker tshirt: tie between “it’s motherfucking booze time” (check it here) and “i think i brained my damage” (here).

caught on tape: joe biden to president obama on the passage of health care reform, “it’s a big fucking deal” (vp with a dirty mouth = hawt.)

commercial worth watching: tie between the kia hamsters doing the black sheep and kevin bacon talking about kevin bacon. (i don’t know what product this latter one is for, but who doesn’t love kevin bacon crossing his fingers wishing he could turn into kevin bacon.)

actual comedy: modern family (lmao every week. should be on hbo for added irreverence.)

dramedy: nurse jackie (girl likes herself some narcotics. why didn’t i consider nursing?)

real drama: tie between dexter and mad men (serial killer who slays serial killers vs. stylistic ad biz show. that’s a toughie, right?)

useful technology: ipad (internet on the train with a large screen for my over 40 eyes + name jokes = no brainer.)

memorable talk show moment: conan obrien doing freebird on his farewell show. (dude can rock out with his sub-woofer out. and he tickles my funny bone.)

depraved blog: vodka and ground beef (i’d link you to it but for some reason it’s like gone. without notice. wtf!)

intriguing blog commenter: tie between bugginword and dufmanno. (both make me feel like i’m swirling in some kind of an imaginarium. that’s a good thing, btw.)

awesome gift giver: three way tie between subwow, wicked shawn and a vapid blonde. (i retire my tiara to these sexy, amazing girls who all blew my mind this year.)

rad nail polish design: fuck u on lindsay lohan’s middle finger (how much do i want to wear this in the corporate conference room!)

book without flowery language: tie between squirrel seeks chipmunk by david sedaris and life by keith richards (each of these artists are iconic and the fiercest in their respective crafts: satirist and rock star.)

and since i’m still wallowing in my suckdom, i’d like to end on bad note. why jimmy choo, why?

uggs aren't pretty to begin with, why bedazzle them?

kibosh is a weird word. so is kielbasa. but this post isn’t about sausage. sausage just isn’t as worthy as bacon. bacon is king.

back to kibosh.

know what you can put the kibosh on? i’ll tell you what because it’s my blog and i’ll kibosh if i want to.

you can put the kibosh on low back pain. that’s an imperative and not an auxiliary verb in case you were wondering. so, who can i count on here? (auxiliary)

i somehow injured my lower back and have a constant burning and radiating pain.  it’s got me all in a funk because i’m pretty sure it’s going to hurt for a year and a half. maybe two. which means i won’t be able to ever work out or play tennis. and then i’ll become fatty patty. i just know this is how it’s going to play out.

i sit at a desk and write for a living so it tightens up and gets worse everyday.  it’s got me so depressed, i’m losing it.

how do i know i’m losing it? i’ve been obsessively:

• picking the scab on my heel which means my boot blister is now open and raw again.
• clenching the steering wheel of my car like i’m choking it to death.
• twirling my hair like a school girl into an alfalfa like horn and tugging on that shit.

one thing i like about blogging is that you never know what may show up in your posts

i wonder what you’ve done for low back pain. keep in mind, i live near and work in a northeastern city so i need the remedy to be fast. i also can’t afford to get fatter. unless it all goes to my boobs. which it won’t.

by the by, i’d also put the kibosh on arm swingers. especially the ones walking slow, holding a cigarette or carrying an umbrella.

and hipsters. they’re so smug and unethusiastic. enthusiasm and passion are way more hip. besides they all look alike making them conformists and not really hipsters.

and boy scout popcorn. at $9 a bag it should have crack in it, like the girl scout cookies. i’m all for supporting the troops, but gimme a little buzz for my money.

i’m patty punker and i approve this message.

i’ve got some digits for you to chew on, punkers. (i’ll emphasize the grizzly bits. i’m sure you’ll want to spit them out as soon as you bite down on them.) did you know that . . .

“CEOs of major U.S. companies today make more in a day than their average employees make in a year. (fuckers) Last year, CEOs made an average of $10.8 million in total compensation, including stock options grants, according to an Associated Press survey of 386 Fortune 500 companies.  That’s more than 364 times the pay of an average worker and 885 times the annual income of a full-time minimum wage earner. (make that motherfuckers)

“A chief executive officer of a Standard & Poor’s (S&P) 500 index company was paid, on average, $9.25 million in total compensation in 2009. At the same time, millions of workers lost their jobs, their homes and their retirement savings in the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression.” (they better all have massive fucking super powers because i don’t see anyone being worth $9.25M or more per year unless they can shape shift into a brilliant medical scientist that actually finds a painless way to dissolve hemmorhoids.)

so that chart pretty much represents how the execs at my company are compensated. in addition to the inflated salaries and bonuses, management investment opportunity and stock options, a savings incentive retirement plan and deferred compensation, they get the following benefits and perks (you must click. this is the best part of this post. page is taken from actual executive leadership package at my company):

this is my favorite piece to edit each year. isn’t there an over-compensated corporate exec that can work on these packages instead of some lowly corporate shit-for-brains like me? cuz ya know what, it pisses me off. it turns me all kinds of jade in the face. that’s jade as in jaded and not green as in envy. they’re all so fucking spoiled. know what? we hand-deliver their executive total rewards packages to them rather than risk sending them through the base u.s postal service. they might get tattered. wah! wah! wah!

so now it’s budget time at my company and evidently these executives are asking for further cuts (e.g., cutting heads, eliminating salary increases, raising the employee cost on benefits, locking up the office supplies – that’s my favorite, i’d like to see the projected annual dollar savings on paper clips).

do you think these cock knuckles would forego their FAT FUCKING executive benefits and perquisites package so they could give the masses a meager raise? would they consider for a second eliminating their own bonuses instead of cutting some peon whose job means everything to him and his family?

of course they wouldn’t.

these pudsuckers are cutting jobs and benefits and blaming it on the economy — all to protect their oversized compensation packages. (clearly there’s a napolean ratio in here somewhere). what about focusing on innovation and better (safer, more eco-friendly, sustainable) products and services? huh, what about that, fucktards? i say executive compensation is the first thing that needs to be fixed in this busted economy.

i hope obama sticks it to them. and it itches. and burns. and they’ve already fired the person who had the actual brains to develop a creme for that.