Friday 14 May 2010

Fabulous Friday: Happy Birthday Cougar.

Yes it's that time again.  The one day of the week I am determined to be queen of optomism, perkiness and the glass half full.  This week has been all about me. Me, me, me, me, me, me.  It's my birthday (well on Tuesday it was, but "it's my birthday on Tuesday just gone", sounded crap) and I am embracing my aging and character-filled body.

The big 37, or 73, not sure which.  Depends on the day really.  Having seen Betty White on Saturday Night Live, I have realised that even old chicks can be hip and happening, so I am equally comfortable with 73.  Well for today anyway, don't ask me tomorrow as I may be less relaxed about the whole aging thing and be forced to throttle you.  I have moved from my mid-thirties to the land of possibilities that is my late-thirties.   Yep, Alyssa Milano, Cameron Diaz and me, 37 is hot! (Shut up!  It's my birthday and I can be as bedazzelingly delusional I want to be).

I realised the universe was sending me a hint when MaryMac over at Pajamas & Coffee put up a post about Cougar Crushes on my big day.  Yep, that's right, I can now be classed as a Cougar.  I believe I get some sort of official card in the mail, plus a Team Cougar jacket, and learn the secret butt-grabbing handshake.  I'm pretty sure it's like the Stonecutters, but with better shoes, more cocktails and discount botox vouchers.

(All hail the Queen, Anne Bancroft, The Graduate, 1967)

Now I should clarify that I have no intention of becoming Mrs Robinson per se (especially on the off chance my mother should read this and be totally horrified), for me hitting this milestone means that I am now officially obligated to perve on guys who were born when I was already in school and even some who are of an age (over 18, all legal) that I could have technically given birth to them (now that makes me feel just a teensy bit old).  Not only do I get chocolate birthday cake and pressies, but I must drool over hot younger men.  I shall force myself if I must, I can't let the cougar sisterhood down.  Besides it's my birthdy and I'll perve if I want to.

So for all my lovely readers I think it's only fair that I put up a picture of my cougar crush.  We all need a little eye candy in our life.  Sweet dreams dear readers, sweet dreams.  See even on my birthday I'm thinking of you.

(Mmmm....Jensen Ackles.......mmmmmm.......sorry what was I saying?  
I think I lost my train of......mmmmmm).

Oprah tells me I now know myself much better now than in my 20s.  Apparently I have reached the guru swami level of spiritual equalibrium.  I know what I want and how to get it.  Things are all peachy from now on.  Acording to a recent episode I should soon be jumping out of planes and doing roller derby.  Lucky I still have my old roller skates, and I think I remember my Xanadu routine.  Just give me a week or 6 to limber up.  And lets face it, if Oprah says it, it must be true.  I still believe she and her guests are on a steady diet of Prozac and tequila shots but hey whatever gets you through the day.  I'm willing to get with the program.

According to medical science I am also now at my sexual peak.  Apparently I have it goin' on.  Okay, even I can't say that with a straight face.  Mr Grumpy, stop laughing, wipe your eyes and pick yourself up off the floor.  So my favourite part of Sex and The City was Carrie's closet full of Jimmy Choos, but hey I'm sure I picked up a trick or two sub-consciously.  Is it possible that having it 'goin on', refers to flannelette pajamas, a carfully crafted muffin top, sparkly slippers and flossing out the spinach from between my teeth before bed?  If so, I am officially a sex-bomb. Watch out honey, bom chiki wah wah, call me when you finally make it up the chandelier.

(Mr Grumpy brought me the best gluten free chocolate cake ever.  
It has also been great for breakfast and lunch for the last few days).

So coo, coo, ca-choo, Mrs Robinson, and a happy birthday to me.


The Trainee Cougar Michelle :)

Simon & Garfunkel, Mrs Robinson 1968


  1. Happy Birthday! Are you sure you're old enough to be a cougar????

    All I can say to that is:


    Enjoy your "sexual peak." I'm wondering when Betty White's sexual peak was. Maybe she's having it now... It would explain why she's more loveable and bubbly than ever!

    P.S. That cake looks amazing. Care to send some of it my way?

  2. Happy belated birthday! I always enjoy reading your blog, as it is a rare occasion that it doesn't just completely send me laughing, and gasping with tears while trying not to choke. And I'll have you know that my priest recommended that I read your blog (well, it was more of a recommendation to try to find things to laugh at with my illnesses, and you do it so eloquently and sardonically, and I *heart* eloquent sardonic above anything else. I mentioned your blog and he said that sounded perfect).

    Oh, wonderful song, by the way! I have long since sworn that I've been born in the wrong era. Lady Gaga, Justin Timberlake, Akon... and whoever else is popular right now have NOTHING at all on Simon Garfunkle, James Taylor, Joni Mitchell, and Harry Chapin (all of whom I have listened to the past few days). Eat your bloody hearts out Justin and Lady!

  3. Ha! Happy Birthday for the other day!

    You might have the jacket and the Team Cougar membership, but compared to Betty White you are still a cub!

    "Carefully crafted muffin top" - hilarious!

  4. Happy birthday you Rusty Hoe you. 37's the new 25, don't worry. :)

    I'm pretty sure i read somewhere that Anne Bancroft was only about 34 when she made that movie and not really cougaresque at all although her character certainly was.

  5. hAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPY Belated Birthday!!! And yes, the thirties are totally the new 20's- so that means you're just getting started!! Also, this means there's lots of sexual peaking going on. Just saying. Of course, having an invisible illness sometimes puts damp, wet tissue on such peaking. But alas, we SHALL PEAK LADIES! HAHA! I'm so bad.

  6. Well happy birthday there my cougar sister. I also turned 37 this year. And yes, there's something about the 7s isn't there? At 36, I could still hold onto the mid-30s platform, but no, safe to say I'm cruising toward 40. Ah well, I care less and less. I refuse to dye my hair. I earned every bloody one of those grey hairs.
    And yo-yos. What a bloody good idea. (I brought the rest of my baking to work today to scoff - by myself).


All who are lovely enough to comment should be showered with cup cakes, glitter and macarons. I promise to use my spoon bending mind powers to try and get that happening for all who are lovely enough to share their words. Those who go the extra step to share posts should really get a free unicorn. Or at least the gift of finding the shortest and quickest line at the supermarket on a regular basis. xx

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