Amber Rollo performs all over the city, bringing humor to dark topics like growing up an orphan, the infantalization of female sexuality and reclaiming rape jokes.

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The short answer is, hell Yes! Allow us to walk you through how the wealthy and well connected get the ultimate hospital luxury treatment.

The donations

Cash is king baby! When the wealthy and well connected have a medical emergency they don’t dial 911, at least they don’t need to. That's because for a small donation of nine figures, and zero decimal points, you can have a university hospital named after you, and any of its top physicians on speed dial. “Mr. Sampson, do you have insurance?” “EXCUSE ME!?!?!? My name is on the side of the building and this entire wing is named after me.”...“ Ok Sir, we'll have you feeling better in no time!”

But what if they move?

This actually happened to a certain Wall Street billionaire. In NY his name is synonymous with good health care, since he has a hospital named after him. Then later in life when he moved to the west coast, he faced the problem of not having a hospital named after him there. At this point, he simply made another nine figure donation to his local west coast university hospital and corrected his status problem. Coast to coast concierge care, all for the affordable price of 200 million+. Rich people might not live forever, but their cash sure as hell does.

The VIP cards

If you can’t afford to make a nine figure donation, don’t worry there's still hope for you. For about a million dollars a year, you know, pocket change, you can get status at a hospital. This is similar to getting status with an airline. For example, if you have to make an emergency room visit, as a status holder, someone from the hospital concierge team will ensure that your visit is … pleeeeeeeaaaaasant. Or at least as pleasant as it can be when you’re getting defibrillated. It's exactly like the “Cheers” opening song, “sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name”. Even if it’s not on the side of a building.

And of course the staff will respect all the necessary HIPPA guidelines. It’s just that you're a VIP and if there's a private room available, it should be yours. Or, if your doctor doesn’t have working hours on that day, perhaps he/she/they should make an exception. You know, just to see your million dollar smile.

The private and celebrity doctors

In the United States health care is a privilege, not a right. We’re not saying that it’s fair, we’re just serving you some facts. People are obsessed with status, and doctors aren't immune to this disease. As a doctor, if you went to the best schools, and got the best grades, you’re basically an academic superstar and therefore you deserve to be a doctor to the stars. That’s what we’ve been told by some people in the medical community. And some celebrities will pay a monthly retainer (around 50k ~) to some of these doctors to have them on speed dial. (No empirical evidence to back up our next statement, but we're sure some Beverly Hills plastic surgeons have a waiting list just to be a retainer patient.)

Is it Fair…?

Well, the good news is that private doctors need access to university hospitals. And in order to obtain access, they need to work and/or teach a certain number of hours at these institutions. Therefore, the rest of us can also get access to their brilliant minds. Just not as much access. And like the rest of us, doctors don’t really know what happens to our spirit when we die, which is why these elite doctors try to save their souls (just in case) by volunteering at hospitals where people of limited means can get access to quality healthcare (unless they’re just working there to experiment on underprivileged patients, but that’s way too much of a conspiracy theory for us to float out here). Anyway, you too may be able to spend six minutes with a superstar doctor, even if you don’t have them on speed dial.

We should also mention that even though Scrooge McDuck has a hospital named after him, and he gets the best care, his donation is funding lifesaving research.

Is it all fair? We don’t know, but money talks. And when it comes to medical care, it damn near SCREAMS.

During a recent conversation with my brother, who is a flat earther religious type, he shared with me his thoughts on the coming of the antichrist, or even the possibility he’s already here among us. And while I don’t usually trust my brother with math and science, I have to admit that his conspiracy theory instincts are usually on point. So it got me thinking; is the antichrist here, and if so, who or what could it be?

Many people believe the antichrist will be a human being. The details of who, what, and when he’ll be born are all in the bible. But given that my favorite piece of literature is gossip news written by snarky gay men, it’s fair to say my copy of the good book is somewhat dusty. Although, come to think of it, there’s nobody snarkier than a closeted gay man, and the Bible is overflowing with those. Joseph and his rainbow coat anyone? And, I’ve also heard there’s more drama and piping hot tea in the Bible than in the entire Real Housewives franchise, so maybe I will actually add it to my summer reading list. But I digress.

According to Google, the antichrist is literally against Christ. It’s a supernatural being whose purpose is to confuse and spread false information. So, who could possibly be doing that?

Yes, you guessed it! Social media. Social media is literally the antichrist.

If this is true, which it is, that would make the antichrist a 16 year old hormone-rage-filled teenager. This bitch never sleeps and always looks good (thirst traps anyone?)

Here to confuse

The biggest purveyor of fake news is social media. Where do you think my brother goes to get his knowledge of math, science and the shape of the earth? We are not saying that there is no real truth floating out there, but who can tell real from fake beneath all the filters? Just because you have hearts floating over your head does not mean you’re a good person, Megan!

Against Christ

Trolling and clapping back is the literal manifestation of not turning the other cheek. I think Christ is in heaven is shaking his damn head in shame. People are radicalized and turned into criminals thanks to social media. You’re welcome Satan.

Also, God specifically said not to take his name in vain, meanwhile everyone is posting about how #JesusDidIt. No, Jesus was not involved in you getting that new car, Susan. Nor does he want his name involved when the collection agencies start asking for their money back. Do not use the name of the Lord in vain bitch.

Supernatural

Social media is everywhere, all over the world, and has been with everyone. She is thirsty, and thirst trapping you all. She is shady af and serving tea in all languages. Come to think of it, if social media was a girl, I would be friends with her.

Just saying…

Helena: 38 years old (American)                 Artur: 35 years old (Russian)

Please let me preface this: I am a good human being. I recycle. I would drive a Tesla if I had the money. I would tell you if you had spinach on your teeth. And I like dogs (unlike some housewives). You’re probably asking yourself why I would start my story with this introduction. Well that’s because, some of y’all are judgy bitches and I need to defend myself.

Artur was kind, smart, and handsome. Correction: This guy was hot. He was the, “I want to sit on his face” kind of hot. We met online and that grainy low-res Tom from MySpace picture did not do him justice. But I digress.

Our messaging was slow at the beginning. Mostly because I was really busy with work, my side business, the three other guys I was dating and all the freaking recycling I told you about. Eventually we met, and I found out something about him. He didn’t have kids. If he had had them he would be like one of those annoying parents who constantly tells you that their brat is in the 98th percentile of height, and that they just purchased the Ferrari of strollers. As if people care Tina. Boring, NEXT! The same concept applies to pets, I can only handle so many stories about your rescue puppy ok?

Artur was a pet lover. He had a dog, a Siberian husky named Sergei. He was constantly talking about him, and very often he would interrupt our messaging, excusing himself by saying “sorry, I need to go out and walk the dog”

Our first date was a cold and windy day in San Francisco. Like the true ho I am, I wore a titty shirt and open toe shoes, and I was freezing! He was 10 mins late, and he showed up with the dog. He explained Sergei had bumped into some of his dog friends along the way. I honestly couldn’t have cared less if they’d bumped into Lassie. Artur was hot af, and his dog was cute too.

We had to sit outside because of said dog, and the wind whipped against my face, tangling my false lashes and obstructing my view of the gorgeous Artur. God was not on my side that day. Did I mention I was freezing? When I stopped holding my wine glass my fingers were frozen into a claw-like shape. Insanely cold! The only one who looked warm was Sergei with his thick husky coat! I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t have a Cruella Deville fleeting thought. Anyway…

After we finished our drinks Artur paid the bill and turned to me saying “I need to walk him now, you wanna come with us?”

Truth be told my toes were telling me no, but I am horny and shallow, so I said, yes. We walked for an hour and a half talking about Sergei and about how he had rescued him from the animal shelter, plus other stories of generous acts of kindness. He was a good guy. Not only did I want to sit on his face, but I now wanted to suck his dick too.

The following week Artur invited me for dinner to his place. As soon as I arrived he asked if I would go with him to walk the dog. Ugh, “Sure”, I said.

Anyway, dinner was delicious, which was a big plus because the things I planned to do this man required energy. Artur started kissing me, but we were interrupted by Sergei growling and nudging his full body weight against me. Don’t laugh. I wasn’t sure if the dog was cock blocking or looking for a threesome. FYI, bestiality is really not my thing.

Thankfully Artur lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom. Yum, he was strong too! But I could hear the dog was following us. Artur shut the door in his face, thank God. Success! We started going at it again, but we could hear Sergei moaning outside the door. So, Artur went to talk to him. Sigh.

There I was, lying on the bed, naked as the day I was born, and the last thing I wanted was to have the dog in bed too, but it was too late. Artur opened the door and in a flash Sergei was right beside me, reclaiming his territory and staring me down. He acted like a wife who had walked in and found me in bed with her husband. The dog was Beyoncé and I was Becky with the good hair about to catch them hands.

Using all my feminine skills I implored Artur to push his dog out of bed, but Sergei wasn’t budging. So Artur turned to me and said, “do you mind if he stays with us? I feel kinda bad you know, he sleeps next to me every night, and it’s not nice leaving him alone in the living room while we’re having fun!” “Couldn’t he give the dog a chew toy to have fun with?”, I thought.

“Listen Artur, I like dogs, I like Sergei but we’re not talking about a chihuahua or a purse dog, c’mon this dog is enormous! Plus, he is shedding and I’m butt naked. I’m sorry but I don’t want him in bed with us. Can’t you please make an exception?” I asked politely. So, Artur clapped his hands, and the dog left the room.

I cheered silently to myself, “stupid dog, he chose me, I win!” Bye Felicia.

However, the moment was gone. We lay side by side without speaking, and my freshly waxed body was freezing. Then Artur mumbled, “I’m so tired, I need to sleep”. Before I even had a chance to mutter back an ok, he had already stood up and opened the door. His voice changed again as he cooed apologies at the damn dog!

Sergei didn’t waste a second and hopped into bed practically pushing me off! Everything was so clear now! I was NOT the choice!!! I grabbed my clothes, dressed myself in five seconds flat and stormed off, but not before glaring at that blasted dog like he was my worst enemy.

Artur never texted. So, I wrote to him a few weeks later and he responded saying that he had disappeared because I was a horrible person for the way I treated his dog. I mean seriously?!

From then on I stopped dating guys with dogs. Instead I adopted a charming cat that loves sleeping on my couch and never needs to go for a walk!

To me, Fashion Week reminds me of my place in the pecking order as an Everyday Elizabeth/Normal Nancy. It’s like the city is having a massive party and 99% of its residents aren’t invited (we’re not attractive enough). The silk lined Gucci gates are firmly closed, and unless you’re wealthy and well connected, you ain’t getting in bitch.

The shows

I’m a native New Yorker, and yet I've never been to a single fashion show or Fashion Week party. If someone reading can correct this injustice, please hook me up. I think the mayor should hand out Fashion Week passes to all of us NY city girls who grew up in the outer boroughs, and desperately want to have a Fashion Week experience. Until then, the shows and the skinny bitches walking them can burn in hell. Just kidding…dag.

The party

Anybody who’s anybody is having a Fashion Week party daaaaarling. So God forbid you try going to a club during this time. If you’re an everyday Jane, you’re not going to get a chance to dance the night away at your favorite spot. But, given that I am grown ass woman who goes to bed at 9pm most nights, this is actually not a problem for me. My favorite dance spot is my living room, and my jam is “baby shark”. Come to think of it, this is probably why the only parties I get invited to are toddler birthdays and baby showers.

The overcrowded restaurants

Just like the clubs, your favorite restaurants are all booked up. Now this one actually impacts me because one of my favorite pastimes is eating. Don’t come between me and my food. I’ve saved my coins in order to enjoy all the amazing NYC restaurants on offer. But guess what? They’ll be impossible to book because they’re full of bitches on a low carb diet pushing arugula around their plates. And these are just a few of the reasons why I fucking hate Fashion Week. Bye!

You want to be a Boss Bitch!

To be a good employee you have to be a good listener, play well with others, and pay close attention to details. Now, some of you possess precisely none of these skills, and have therefore decided that the only path open to you is to become a Boss Bitch. Good Luck! Reality is a vindictive little witch, and revenge is a dish best served cold. So whip out that faux fur, because ice-cold karma is coming your way.

It turns out that in order to be a successful Boss Bitch you have to master some of the basic skills of an employee. So, if you want to be an entrepreneur, you should know a couple of things.

Be Cheerleader

Are you a miserable fuck? If your answer is yes, then there is hope for you. Recognizing the problem is the first step towards finding a solution. Some of you walk around ‘hating this’ and ‘hating that’, ‘hating your boss’ and ‘hating life’. Meanwhile you're not getting any work done, because you are Instagram stalking, and posting 3-month old pictures from when you were in Cabo with the hashtag #LivingMyBestLife. Ugh. Lies. Then you have the audacity to get upset when your boss asks for an update. Bitch, FOCUS. Your lack of focus might be the source of your misery.

As an entrepreneur you're the cheerleader for your vision, and sometimes your vision is blurry. But you'll still need to be positive and focused. You'll need to adopt an optimistic world view that extends way past your hashtags.

Trim Your Bush

It is important to listen with the intention of actually learning something new. Some of you just listen because your ears are able to hear noise, but you don’t actually learn anything. So yes, listen and learn, but also remember that some people have no vision. Sandra Bullock lost in the woods in Bird Box had more vision than some of the people in your circle. They can see, but they still stumble because their small minds can’t handle your big vision. So whip out that weed whacker and go to work on your friend garden.

The hate is strong! And haterade is cheaper than champagne. Be around people that are loving, and, specifically, who love you and are rooting for your success.

Manage your time

Working from home means having access to porn and masturbation, and if you're anything like me this is a big temptation. But put the dildo away, and focus on your email. NO, not the US Weekly newsletter, your email. I know the FOMO is real, but you’ll find another way to Keep up with the Kardashians. When you open your email, focus on the job at hand.

Set 1-hour deadlines. Short deadlines can sometimes force us to focus.

Learn to wear many hats

You may not have an assistant to help, although, Sonja Morgan has twelve and her life is still a mess. When you're starting out, you will have to wear many hats while paying close attention to detail, which can be mind numbingly boring. But as a Boss Bitch all those finer points are important. Think how superior you feel when you get a fresh manicure and you don’t have a single chipped nail. Right?!?

Hi Mr. & Mrs. X! What’s that? You want me to be your nanny? I’d love to. So, you have some ground rules? That’s funny, because so do I. Look, I’ve been a nanny for a while. I’ve worked for some good parents and some bad ones, and I know what will help me help your child. So if you don’t want me to be the über-bitch nanny that all the other nannies talk about at the playground, let me get these six little things out of the way.

1. Killing my soul

Yes, Timmy is very intelligent, but sometimes he can’t even remember his own name. The more time we spend around your kid, the harder it is for us to relate to other adults. After twelve hours of being with your child, we crave adult conversation. A piece of our soul dies every time we get a message thirty minutes before clocking off time, where we’re told that you will be two hours late. Sure, things happen, but we do have a life outside of Timmy. Talking to no one but a two year old, twelve hours a day six days a week, results in me talking baby talk to my boyfriend, and while he may like that on occasion, it should be an option, not a reaction brought on by mental exhaustion.

2. Bitch better have my money

I can’t believe that this even happens. Even fast food workers get paid overtime. Apparently you have more respect for the dude that flips your burgers than you do for the person keeping your child alive.

3. Don’t bother me on my day off

I hear you boo, Timmy is terrible two-ing like a mother fucker, I would not want to spend (un paid) time with him either. But, we have boyfriends, girlfriends, and we even netflix and chill (all day Sunday). And this is an event that we don’t want to disrupt, so that we can go and clean two year old Timmy’s adult size shit. If we have to be with Timmy Monday through Friday, don’t you think he should spend time with his parents on the weekend?

4. Say thank you!

Did you notice that Timmy now says please, and sings the ABCs? No, it’s not because you have great manners, or because you have genius in your genetic makeup. These are things that are learned. And given that you are at your corporate job for 12-15 hours, so that you can pay me to work for 12-15 hours, it’s not hard to figure out who is actually teaching Timmy. You could say thank you on occasion. Or just F-ing notice. Please don’t piss the nanny off because just like I can teach him to sing the ABC’s I can also teach him to sing Despacito – You’ve been warned.

5. Communicate

I didn’t know that Timmy had a playdate with Susie at 3 pm. Talk to me boo. You need to communicate effectively. Oh, you told your mother who’s visiting for the summer that Timmy has a play date, and she claims that she told me? Literally the only thing she said to me in the last three weeks was “You need to wear a bra.” Oh and BTW Timmy gained those four pounds because the only way he’ll go near gramma is when she bribes him with candy.

6. Where are you?

I love Timmy, but not as much as you should.

And while you might be able to effectively delegate all day at work, you cannot delegate away parenting. I’m good, but not that good. Sure, I can teach your child manners, but if you don’t reinforce the lessons, then the child will only respect me, and will be disrespectful with you. I am amazing, but I am still hired HELP. Help being key.

Why JOMO is the new FOMO

When you’re in your twenties, for many people, the idea of missing out on any opportunity to be with friends, cut loose and do the most is like a stake through the heart. I’m speaking from experience here. Back then, when funds were low, and I couldn’t go out, I could be found on my bed crying into my pillow, rocking back and forth like a character from American Horror Story: Asylum, and reciting a Hail Mary. I had bigtime FOMO (fear of missing out).

Now I’m nearly forty (don’t know how the hell that happened). I live in Berlin, Europe’s party capital, and although I can still get turnt with the best of them, nowadays, when I see a group of pale, gurning, wide-eyed twenty somethings shivering in an endless nightclub queue, I smile smugly to myself, turn my collar up, hail a cab, and head home bathed in JOMO (joy of missing out). That’s right people, your own four walls are now where it’s at. Whole swathes of Generation Z are discovering the joys of saying fuck you to nights out, slipping on their novelty slippers, and cracking open the rosé. And here’s why.

You get to be HBIC

When you invite the troops to yours, it’s on your terms. You get to dictate the music, guest list, and (more importantly) what time you kick everybody out. There’s no juiced up hyper-aggressive door staff to deal with, no waiting in line for the bathroom, and no watered-down drinks. If you’re a fan of powdered treats the threat of law enforcement is also removed, and you’re free to roll around on the floor like the drug addict you are. Provided you have fairly understanding neighbours, home partying is JOMO without really having to miss out.

Other people

My friends and I have a certain energy when we go out. That energy is LOUD (some might say obnoxious, I choose to view it as fabulosity), and it tends to attract veritable swarms of begfriends. I think folks respond well to seeing people really let loose and enjoying themselves and they want a piece of the action. But here’s the thing. Neither I nor my friends want to talk to you, Greg from Scranton. That may come across full Mean Girls “you can’t sit with us” vibes but hear me out. My girlfriends are tired of being the object of sweaty, unwanted male attention, and I’m tired of having to deflect said sweaty, unwanted attention. Drunk men can be gross basically, but at the hottest spot in town, aka your living room, you’re in charge of the velvet rope, so you can keep the plebs at bay. Another win for JOMO

The cost

Going out is expensive; cabs, drinks, the rest (winky face emoji). You pretty much need to be a Hilton sister to be able to party in the style you’d like. Why bother? Save those pennies. Pay off your student debt, put some money away for a deposit on a house in the suburbs, pay into your 401K. or you could just blow it all on that killer handbag you’ve had your eye on. Your choice.

How to survive a Berlin visit.

Some people call Las Vegas sin city. Those people are idiots, don’t listen to them. Seriously, delete them from your contacts and listen to us. Berlin is the original city of excess and debauchery. They’ve been getting buck wild in the German capital since the 1920s and long before. And while many people may not associate Germany with sexiness and naughty behaviour, we can assure you that a trip here would make even the most hardened ho blush! So, here’s our little guide to enjoying Berlin (and making it out alive)…

Stop smiling

Berliners are a tough bunch. I mean come on, they’ve dealt with Hitler, Stalin, and the wall. Not to mention the freezing winters. They’ve got zero time for your daisy chain, hold hands and skip through a field of flowers, SoCal vibes. Happy, smiley people are mistrusted here. You remember Daria from MTV? She’d fit right in.

Wear black

It’s a religion here. Black on black on black. Black Jack. Black is beautiful. Black don’t crack. And in the summer? You wear your summer black. DUH!

Stop staring

If you go out to a club here, chances are you’re gonna see some stuff, sexual stuff (there’s a passing chance you might slip on some stuff too). People feel no way here about getting amorous in the club. Be it in the toilets, some dark, sweaty corner, or hell, even on the dance floor. Sex is everywhere in Berlin’s nightlife, but it’s considered the height of rudeness to stare, or even (gasp) take pics. Put the camera down Wendy and close your mouth. It’s just people fucking.

Get outside

Contrary to what you’ve just read above, Berlin does have a softer side. It’s surrounded by beautiful woods and lakes, and in the summer you can easily reach many of them by public transport. There’s nothing better on a hot summer’s day then heading out with your friends for a day at the lake. Just watch out for all the nudists! Eyes front dear, it’s just naked people.

How to Survive a Bronx Visit

To all you Bronx people, don’t get your panties all up in a twist. As a native I know first-hand that the Bronx is hood AF. This is not Brooklyn. Ain't no two-tier strollers rolling down these blocks. This article is not for you, you’re already a zebra on the plains, you know when to run. This article is for the brave souls that want to add to the Bronx tourist bag. And if you don't know what we mean by "tourist bag", and you're planning on going to the Bronx then sigh. This survival guide is for you.

Don’t look like you don’t belong

Don’t look scared. If you happen to make eye contact, don’t look away first. If you're white, you can probably pass as a light skin Puerto Rican. Walk around with confidence. Just smile and keep walking. Actually, don’t smile. Ain't nobody happy. It’s a hard knock life, what’s wrong with you?

Don’t ask for directions

Google maps exists for a reason. Don’t nobody have time to give you directions to something right in front of you. Sorry our buildings don’t sparkle like storefronts on Madison avenue. And sorry if the gang graffiti is blocking the building number. Just listen to SIRI and you’ll find your way.

Trains

If you have to take the train, avoid the 2. The 5 is reasonable, and the 6 is your safest bet. There is a reason why “Jenny from the block” was “on the 6.”

What To Wear

Learn your gang colors. Blue is for Crips, red is for Bloods, and yellow is for Latin Kings. But if you wear all these colors at the same time, you'll be fine.

What are you looking for?

This is a question I am sometimes asked by men online.

My answer:

"I am looking for my dog Betty cause I've lost her. Just kidding!” He didn't get it, and honestly, if he's not a little charmed by that silly joke how much fun can he really be?"

What am I looking for? “Other University of Chicago alums - I thought this would be a good place to network.” This was to another University of Chicago alum, self-identifying as a dominant in his bio with only a single photo (but he was attractive, and I assumed he was smart, since he went to my school and didn’t look like an athlete).

The real answer is… I am looking to date with the hope of it turning to something more, but I'm not against something more casual as long as it’s respectful and there’s a friendship. That's the truth. But I have to be careful when I share my true feelings. Guys tend to trip over themselves agreeing that something casual with a friendship is what they want too, but sometimes they still disappear. Ghosting is a competitive sport and some men deserve a gold medal.

I assume that the real question men want to ask is not, “What am I looking for?” The real question is, “are you DTF (down to fuck)?” I think some men should change their vanilla bio of “down to earth” to “down to fuck”. My answer to “am I DTF?", is yes. I am a red-blooded women, I LOOOVE fucking, but I also like courtship. So if you can’t court me, we ain’t fucking.

I am in my mid 30s, married with kids. The other day while watching the news, actually who am I kidding, I was watching the Kardashians. Wait, was it the real housewives? Nope, it was the Kardashians. Anyway, Kourtney was going on about possibly freezing her eggs, and it got me thinking. Should I freeze mine?

That’s not the real decision. The real decision is: Do I want more kids?

Motherhood has really changed my life. And look. I love my kids, I just don’t like them...for NOW. I can hear your judgey thoughts. Again, I LOVE my kids, but who here really enjoys changing a diaper, and chasing after a kid? God, I seriously hope my babies’ nanny does, because without her my dream of being a working mom would not be possible. But I digress, do I really want more children?.

I am old enough to know myself, and understand that I am fickle. Which is why I don’t want any tattoos, a mortgage, or even a long phone contract. But, with age you experience a loss of opportunities. For instance, I will never be a child star, or be able to join a sorority. And while I might have the maturity of a college freshman, with age I won’t have the fertility or the libido of one.

Do I want to inject myself with hormones?

It’s part of the egg freezing process. It would be great if I could just pee out my eggs and shove them in the back of a freezer, like my mother in law’s lasagna. I can’t eat that, my body doesn’t appreciate it. And my body doesn't appreciate hormones either. In fact, my preferred method of contraception is thoughts and prayers, because I refuse to take the pill. That may be why I have two children.

So, injecting myself with hormones doesn't align with my hormone free philosophy. I spend all this money on organic, antibiotic, and hormone free chicken. Sure, I’ve been called a chicken head once or twice, but I’ve always been a hormone free one. So in a way, my ovaries are organic and free range.

Not all eggs are viable

According to Dr. Google, the best time to freeze your eggs is before 35. So I might be too old. My poor eggs are not even hatched, and they're already suffering from this world’s youth obsessed culture.

The money

Insurance doesn't cover egg freezing, because it’s not medically necessary. I get it. But also, I heard a rumor that insurance will cover Viagra because you know, blue balls is a near death experience, a possible medical condition, and men must address that even if their penis won't get hard.

So until the insurance companies treat my eggs the same way they treat some dude’s balls, I’m going to sit back down and binge watch the Kardashians.

Small World

City: New York City, NY

Her: Amanda, 35 (American)      Him: Karl, 37 (American)

I matched with Karl on Tinder, and I remember clearly that we started chatting in a friendly and nice way, as though we'd known each other for a really long time. So much in common. In so many ways we were perfect for each other.

I should have known then that this was way too good to be true.

Of course, he asked me the typical questions like, where are you from? What do you do in life? What neighborhood do you live in? How is this app treating you so far? etc. Four weeks in and he hadn't sent a dick pic or asked to see my boobs. This wasn’t an ordinary Tinder match, this was the white whale of Tinder matches - relationship material!

We found out that we were both from Maine but we didn't spend too much time talking about that. Truthfully, I’ve been living in the city for 11 years now, Maine was forever ago.

After almost a month of chatting, he finally asked me out on a date. Ok, I asked him. Well, it was more like I asked if we were just going to talk online forever or was he actually interested in meeting up? Turns out we lived 4 blocks from each other. We visited the same bars and frequented the same bodega. We even lived along the same subway line - if you’re not from NYC you don’t know how big a deal that is, but so many relationships end because someone lives along the dreaded G line, which makes them geographically undesirable. Karl however, wow! We were in the same place mentally and geographically. This was getting better every day.

I was so excited to finally meet this guy. Like, shaving your legs in the winter excited. We met in a nice bar in Brooklyn and the moment we saw each other... I don't know, that was hard to explain.

He took one look at me and one eyebrow went up. He went from open to guarded in a split second. Despite his odd reaction we started having some drinks, but as we kept chatting it was getting weirder and weirder. Then at some point, he asked me, "So what part of Maine are you from?" "From Augusta", I said. "What about you?" "Hahahaha me too", he answered, "do you by any chance have a brother called Nick?"

"I do, oh my God, why? Do you know him?"

My heart sank, I knew right then what was coming. Nick isn’t the sweetest of people.

Karl’s face and voice changed. "Yes, he was in my class at elementary school and I hate him. He ruined my childhood. I was chubby, and he was so mean to me. He was always making fun of me calling me Butterball in front of everyone. He made up a song calling me Butterball. One time in gym class the entire auditorium was singing Butterball! He bullied me a lot. I lost all my friends, and no one invited me to their birthday parties or playdates."

Yep, he was talking about MY brother. This should have been a bonding moment for Karl and I. I should have chimed in, “Yeah, he was such an asshole when he was younger, but he's mellowed now." Or I could have defended my brother and said, "No way, I can't believe this story. You're probably wrong, you're talking about a different Nick, my brother would never do this to anyone, he's such a nice guy."

But before I could say anything, he stood up, left 20 bucks on the counter -- paying only for his drinks -- and just about screamed, "I could never date Nick's sister, Nick the dick!" And with that, he left.

Unbelievably awkward for me! I wanted to vanish into thin air, everyone was staring at me and laughing. I was mortified!

I immediately called my brother and told him the story, he pretended not to remember. Then,"Nah, I’m kidding" and he started singing “Butterball.”

A month later I was at the bodega and guess who was there? Karl. He was probably feeling bad about what he did, or maybe he was just lonely, but he started hitting on me, hard. I know I should have played along, but I was a couple of drinks down and all I could think about was this song my brother taught me...

“Butterball”

Let’s face it, we live in a skeptical society. Given the sheer amount of information we get on a daily basis, it’s easy to take a wild conspiracy theory and run with it. Did Russian hackers rig the election so Putin could get his fuck buddy Trump elected? Are there aliens living in Area 51? Is it possible that the Facebook breech was a ruse by the government to get more personal information about us in order to control us?

While the sane and rational side of me knows that most conspiracy theories are just flights of fancy, every time I talk to my mother on the phone and I tell her that I want to learn a new language, sure enough, google ads for language tapes pop right up on my feed, and I have to ask myself if Big Brother really is watching?

The boogeyman 

Also, a few really crazy things turned out to be true no matter how unbelievable they may seem. For instance, I grew up just outside of Pittsburgh, PA and as kids we were all terrified by the Urban Legend of Charlie No Face, who was – shock among shocks – a dude with no face. Turns out Charlie No Face was a real dude named Raymond Robinson who had his face burned off on an electrified Trolley Bridge. Sure, it happened in 1919, a good 70 years before I heard the campfire story, but the point is that my childhood boogeyman was based on a real dude. So maybe some of the crazy conspiracy theories are also true.

The Government is poisoning you 

“The government will poison and kill its own citizens.” This one sounds absolutely crazy. Like something your 83-year-old uncle would scream at the TV when Fox News shows a picture of Obama working in a soup kitchen. Only problem is it’s true.

Look back at prohibition. When we banned the sale of booze, some bootleggers used industrial alcohol as a substitute in their stills. So the US government changed the formula to a poisonous one to deter breaking the law. It might have been nice had they told the bootleggers. They didn’t. And about 10 to 12 thousand people died. No biggie, they probably would have voted for the other guy.

“We’re being drugged by the government so they can control us.” This one sounds like it comes from your favorite uncle at the barbecue. You know the one, he wears Grateful Dead T-shirts and smells like Patchouli. The one uncle who you wanted to talk to before you headed out to college. But again, the government drugging us? MK-ULTRA. From 1953 to 1973 the government, specifically the CIA, gave volunteers and then unwitting people LSD to test the effects and see how easy it would be to control them. They also tested torture, hypnosis, sensory deprivation, and isolation. I know that sounds like a synopsis of your high school years, but it's actually some seriously evil stuff the government has done.

Internet murderers 

“Be careful on the internet, there are serial killers on line.” This does sound like a warning you get from your mother when you tell her you set up an online profile after your divorce. “Be careful on the interweb baby, there’s killers loose out there.” I get it mom, safety first. Dangerous people yeah, but serial killers. Really?

Really. Look up “Slavemaster.” He was a chatroom phenom from the early days of the internet. “He lures women into his home and kills them.” Turns out he did. John Edward Robinson, AKA Slavemaster was the internet’s first serial killer. He had five women’s bodies on his property at the time of his arrest. “He seemed like a sweet little Slavemaster", said no one ever. Look, when you’re looking for love on line, avoid the people who’s name screams I NEED PSYCHIATRIC CARE.

Don’t Trust Religion 

“Don’t trust religion man they all work for the Government.” This is one your dad screams as mom packs the kids off for church and he just wants to watch the Jets versus the Pats while sitting in his boxers on the couch. It’s part bad excuse to skip church, and part slam of organized religion. Surely no religious leaders are on the US government payroll.

Not so fast there sailor. Maybe some low level minister guy. Someone not so big right? Like maybe… The F@(&!n Dalai Lama. Read that again, THE DALAI LAMA. It happened in the 1960’s when our government was funneling money into the Tibetan resistance. But the money just went to the resistance right? Well there was about 180K per year that the US gave directly to the Dalai Lama as part of this. And before you think I made this up, turns out we found out about it through declassified US government documents. 

So next time someone on Facebook posts that the US government is trying to clone dinosaurs in order to patrol our southern border, maybe you should wait a few years and see what happens. Remember, trust no one, deny everything, and check with Snopes.com before you repost!

How on earth did I get here? As a “man of a certain age”, who works way more than the mythical 40 hours a week, I’ve gotten to the point where every hour is precious. I also realize that my values are changing. I want to find someone to share my life and my time with. Gone are the days of chasing every skirt that passes by. With precious few hours to play with, I want to make sure I have the right playmate. 

What follows works for me. I found it through trial and error. I spent the time making the same mistakes as every other guy. Chasing after the younger woman who I swiftly found out I have nothing in common with. Chasing after the uber-motivated career woman who it seemed was always having a difficult time fitting me into her schedule. Given all of my dating attempts, here’s the type of woman that is the best fit for my life: A woman with kids.

But why, you ask? Here are my 6 reasons to love dating a woman with kids.

She understands what it's like to be busy 

Time. Let’s face it, I’m busy. A woman with kids understands that. Hell, she’s busier than you. If you tell her you’re running late she'll understand, and chances are she'll be relieved to have the extra time.

She knows how to relax

You both NEED the down time. So, my last ex was single, lived with 2 other women and had a go nowhere job. At 27 she was just getting started in life. Everything was surface. Surface conversations, surface activities, surface dates. Nothing was important. She never understood that I didn’t want to relax, I needed to. Cut to my current woman. She holds down a job and has two kids, seven and nine. There are times she needs to have a glass of wine with me. We both have stress, and we can both decompress together. There is something rich and satisfying about that.

Kids bring joy 

 The kids. Look, I never had kids. I was always too busy. She does, and if I’m a part of her life, they’re a part of my life. And while the last two decades were spent on adult dates like theater and fine dining, I had no idea how much I was missing until I had a “family date.” Amusement parks, beaches, hell even “family restaurants” are all so much better experienced with kids around. Their joy is contagious. Bonus for me – the nine year old has a game console and a 9PM curfew. Haven’t played video games since college. I do now.

Home cooked meals

Meals and snacks. Dear god, I’ve lived on my own since I was 23. In these decades, I think outside of eggs and pasta, the only time when the kitchen has been used is when a woman decides to cook for me. I have more take out menus than recipes. When my current girlfriend first came here, she was amazed that I kept my stove so clean. She has since realized it's from lack of use. But her house? Her place is the epicenter of home cooked meals, quick and handy snacks and surprises. Last Monday as I was leaving her place to drop her kids off at school we each got a home made lunch. 1PM in the safety of my office I pulled out a sandwich and a juice box. IT WAS SO SEXY! Don’t judge, you know you’re jealous 

She's a problem solver 

 You have a partner. You’re both busy and you’re committed to making things work. In most of my relationships when things got rough, they would get gone. Now you have someone who is skilled at making decisions, problem solving, and keeping things in order working with you to make things work. When I was seven states away for a business meeting on my birthday, there was no moping or complaining. She figured out my schedule and made sure I had a gift waiting for me at my hotel. Even better, there was a better “celebration” waiting for me when I got home.

The Sex

The Sex. You didn’t think I was going to let that go did you? Look, I’ve had plenty of sex with other women, but the time constraints and possible interruptions with a woman who has kids elevate every quickie into a sexual escapade. Quickies are a new-found joy. Ever do it against a washing machine while the kids get ready for school? I have. There’s a YouTube video of some pop star getting slimed. It runs 11 minutes and 43 seconds. Do you know what you can do in 11 minutes and 43 seconds? So, so much. And when the kids are in bed and it’s alone time – let’s just say she’s happy to have an activity that is clearly adult orientated. 

Look, there are problems. Navigating the ex, not overstepping the boundaries with the kids, not making noise while you’re pinned up against a washing machine. But overall, I’m sold. Give me a woman with kids – just as long as she has room for me in her tribe.

Mimi. The Elusive Chanteuse. The Emancipated one. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? I’m talking about Miss Mariah Carey of course. The golden tonsilled songstress who for nigh on three decades now, has been gifting us hit after hit after hit. I've been a super fan since the days of Vision of Love. You remember. It was 1990. Her hair was big, the notes were high, and on the album cover she had a startled deer in the headlights look, as if someone had put something up her bum without asking first. But I digress. There are a million and one reasons to love Mariah, and I thought I would share a few with you…

The voice

It may sound obvious, given that this is probably what she’s most famous for, but God damn Jesus titty Christ that woman can sing. Her range is ridiculous. From those Mariana Trench low husky notes she hits, to the “only dogs can hear her” high notes she belts out. And you know you’ve stood in front of the bathroom mirror trying to hit them too, finger in ear, just like Mimi.

The reinventions

At first she was wholesome, suburban-centric Mariah. Like when she was married to Tommy Mottola, the head of Sony, and the record company didn’t want you to know she was mixed race, so they put her in cut off denim shorts and a hoody, and tried to tame her mass of curly hair so as not to scare the white folks. Then she ditched that whole mess (husband included) and decided to let us know that, actually, she is partly melanated, and she’s also somewhat of a sex siren. I like to call this phase Hip-Hop-Hoe Mariah (my personal favorite period). This is the era of “Honey” and “Heartbreaker.” There then followed somewhat of a wilderness period where she had battles with her mental health, and lots of people wrote her off. Fools. She came storming back with “The Emancipation of Mimi” and entered her fully fledged diva phase. The hair was slick, the gowns were tight, and she wasn’t afraid to let you know that she was balling out of control. Designer labels everywhere! Now she seems to have settled into a pretty constant look. She’s got kids now, and she’s getting older, but she still wants to show some skin, and show off those titties. I like to call this vibe mildly slutty mom. And she does it oh so well.

The attitude

Now some people might see this as grounds for criticism, but I completely disagree. She’s been accused of being a diva, of making outrageous demands, of keeping people waiting, blah blah blah. To that I say, so fucking what?! She’s Mariah Carey and she can do whatever the hell she wants. If you didn’t want to wait for her, were you chained there? No. Get the hell up and leave if you’re tired of waiting. People say it’s ridiculous that she’s said, “she doesn’t do stairs.” Well if you lived your life in six-inch heels, I’m sure you too would have an aversion to steps. Seems like a perfectly reasonable thing to say as far as I’m concerned. She has also stated she only likes to be photographed from her right side, because that’s her good side. Cue haters. And? What’s your point Karen? If you had millions of pictures of you floating around on the internet, wouldn’t you also want to look your best? Take several seats.

I recently went to see her Christmas show, and at one point she had her assistant come out on stage to remove her fur hood, and then sort out her hair for her. All while sipping water from a Swarovski crystal encrusted bottle. Everybody should be living that kind of life.

The outfits

Although she’s not known for her fashion chops, I have always admired her style. She’s given us everything from crop tops to full on ballgowns and I’m so here for it. Mariah has also been body positive since before it was even a thing. Her weight has often fluctuated, and she’s definitely more on the curvy side naturally, but she’s going to wear whatever the hell she likes and screw you if you have anything to say about it. You couldn’t afford what she has on anyway (not even the spanx holding it all in place) so keep it moving hooker.

I love her, I love her, I love her! All hail Queen Mimi. Long may she reign!

So you got married. Congratulations. So many hopes and dreams lie ahead. We hope that you achieve your Happily Ever After. We hope that your life ahead is filled with white picket fences, puppies playing with your 2.5 children in the yard, and fondue nights with Marty and Alison from next door, as you and your significant other watch, hold hands, and grow old together, dentures at the ready.

But for the roughly 42% of marriages that won’t end this way, and for the ones that don’t end in murder, we think there are a few choice things you should know. So please allow us to present the top 10 things you need to know about divorce.

Kids

After the kids deal with the trauma, they WILL use it to their advantage. Mom won’t let you go to the concert, ask dad, he’s a soft touch. It’s a case of divide and conquer, and somehow those pesky kids always win.

Your sex life

New sex isn’t exciting. It’s awkward, clumsy, and filled with body issues and disappointment. That goes for men and women. When you’re together for a while you get comfortable with those extra pounds or not so perfect skin. After all, your partner promised for better or for worse right?. Now you’re in a room with new glaring eyeballs looking at you and there’s no place to hide that extra dessert you had on Tuesday.

Friends

Your couple friends are going to take sides. You thought people could be mature adults and maintain relationships with both of you? Please! You may be 40, but high school never ends! Mean girls and boys are everywhere. "Sorry, I can’t hang out with you, I’m not comfortable with the way you treated your ex." Next!

Creeps

A gross number of your ex’s friends will attempt to “console” you. And by console we mean bone. Yep that’s right. Harmless Stan will suddenly become Handsy Stan. Beware of the backrub.

Loneliness

You’re going to miss your ex. A lot. Way too much. It makes no sense, they’re shitty and that’s why you divorced them, yet when no one is around, and the walls close in, your heart will break again.

Jealous

You’ll hate their new person. Doesn’t matter how lovely they are, how well they treat your children, or how respectful they are to you, you’ll hate them, and envisage them in all sorts of perilous, life ending situations. Or is that just us? Here’s why you’ll hate them – they’re consoling your ex. And by consoling we mean boning (aren’t euphemisms fun?!). Jealousy doesn’t end with a court decree.

The Opinions

Everyone has on opinion on what you did wrong. That’s right, what YOU did wrong. The divorce wasn’t your fault? Not according to your co-worker, grandmother, and upstairs neighbor. If only you would have... When it gets to be too much just nod knowingly and silently repeat your mantra, “You are a f’ing idiot.” I also find visualizing these well-meaning offenders being flayed alive à la Game of Thrones helpful. Just a suggestion

Your feelings

Every song on the radio will now hurt. Not only every song, but books, movies, restaurants, national historical land marks, even things you never gave a crap about. And they will hurt at the most unexpected times. It’s like memories and feelings are teaming up to make you feel like hell. It’s not your imagination, they are.

Nothing is fun

New things aren’t as fun as you thought they'd be! All those things you said you’d do once you lost the dead weight of your spouse aren’t as much fun as you thought. In fact, you won’t even get to half your list. Your ex wasn’t the problem. Life is the problem. Sorry Susan

This too shall pass

It’s going to take a long time for you to feel like you again. You spent so long being half of an “us”, that it’s gonna take time to adjust to being a whole “you.” Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us. Give it time, you will find your way through it.

Look, life post-divorce is scary and unsettling. It takes time and attention to heal your wounds. But in time, you will laugh, trust, and love again (Although you’ll probably always hold on to a small part of you that loves your ex so much that you hope they’ll never find happiness without you. Just saying, don’t call us petty). Totes normal

PC culture is getting out of control. Dear God! We don’t sound like Trump do we?! We really don’t mean to. Political correctness is important, but sometimes in an attempt to be PC, you just end up sounding stupid. Below you’ll find a few examples.

White people feeling uncomfortable saying the word "black" when referring to a person of color.

You know how that conversation goes. “She's the blaaaaaa, woman of African American ancestry that sits over there”. Just say the black woman Karen. It’s ok, it’s not a racial slur. There’s no need to sound like you’re reading the results of a DNA test. Just don’t call her the N word (never ever, never, like never. Stop. Cease and desist. It’s never ok for white people to use this word. We said never, damn it! I can see your lips forming the shape of an N. Stop it Barbara!).

When someone is CLEARLY pregnant, is it ok to address the pregnancy?

Yes! We're not talking about the maybe she had a burger for lunch type of belly. I am talking about the yup she is with child kind. Pregnancy is often a beautiful thing, and it’s perfectly fine to address it. Just don’t be an ass or tell her she looks like she's about to pop. That’s just rude, and you might find yourself getting popped in the face if you do.

Is he gay?

Sometimes it’ really hard to tell. And some people don’t want their sexuality discussed. Heterosexual people don’t walk around announcing that they’re straight, so why should gay people have to do the same? And, while we're on the topic, why is society so focused on people’s sexuality anyway? Boxes are for shoes, not people. But, being honest, sometimes, it is in your face. If he’s wearing a pink tutu, a necklace made of dildos, and walking like a cowboy, chances are he’s into guys

Who farted?

If someone farts in an elevator and you 100% know who it was, you can totally shame them. That’s nasty. I’m not trying to inhale your anal gases.

Oh dear God! Enough with youth culture. In my 20’s it was about looking good, partying hard, and making sure I left an impression. Best part about aging? Now I’m the one who needs to be impressed. There’s more stuff as well, here’s my short list.

YOU GET SMARTER WITH AGE.

Gone are the days of mixing coke with champagne. Now you mix champagne with
prescription pharmaceuticals like a responsible adult! Jk, but only barely. But
seriously, adulting gets easier with age. At 21 cold pizza and Cup ‘O Noodles are a fine choice At my age…? Let’s just say everything I put in my body needs to be good for me (and yes, that includes men).

YOU GET HOTTER

Queue in Khloé Kardashian! I mean, wow. With age you learn NOT to wear your titty shirts with bootie shorts and thigh high boots. You’re classy now. You wear your thong titty body suits with a pair of jeans, like a lady.

THE QUALITY OF PEOPLE IN YOUR LIFE GETS BETTER

Remember when you were friends with only hot girls, so that you could get into clubs, and between the three of you there wasn’t enough mental power to operate one brain? And those same friends would just talk shit behind your back, AND flirted with your boyfriend. And not surprisingly, you did the same because it was a cycle of horrible behavior. Oh, that’s just us? Whatever. Well those friends are gone.

Your adult friends do YOGA and take meditation classes, like good people. So now you judge bitches based on their karmic aura. Om! Even better since you choose to like and respect yourself… guess what? So, do the people in your life. Don’t you wish someone would have told you about that at 18?

ROMANCE IS FINALLY ROMANCE

Maybe you’re married, or maybe you are swiping left and right, but with age you learn to do both more efficiently. You expect more from your partner and – Holy Crap! – you aren’t afraid to ask them for it. Look, we all spent our time with booty calls, hook ups, and friends with benefits – now it’s time for partners. And you aren’t a junior partner either – you have control over the company you keep!

Perhaps it’s acquired wisdom, or maybe because we’re just too tired to play the game in life, but whatever the reason, we kind of like where we are right now. Well, except when we find a gray hair…

***Hey, if you have something about aging that you think is awesome, we here at BoP would love to read it in the comment section.

Certain things don’t require a lot of thought, like getting engaged to Justin Bieber. But whether or not to have kids is something that requires a little more thinking.

1-IF YOU HATE DOING LAUNDRY CHILDREN AREN’T FOR YOU

Thanks to the extra baby weight, I wear the same YOGA pants and t-shirt every day. Yet, I am in the laundry room so much, that I sometimes imagine chewing on a Tide Pod.

2-I AM SO SLEEP DEPRIVED, HONESTLY COFFEE DOES JACK

You don’t sleep, you just rest your eyes. Those bags under your eyes aren’t just because you’re tired, that’s your face now…Congratulations

3-FOGGY MEMORY

Your mind is so full of mommy stuff that your brain is constantly operating on low storage. You basically have the memory of a mosquito.

4-BREASTFEEDING HURTS

Since my husband has nipples, why can’t we put them to use? This is how you know God is not a woman.

5-EVERYBODY IS JUDGMENTAL

Cloth diapers? Somebody will have something to say about that. Breastfeeding in public? There’s opinions. Stroller choice? You probably made the wrong one.
Every aspect of raising your child is up for discussion. The interesting thing is that a lot of these of opinions will be coming from people who think that getting a dog is good practice for when you have children (lol)

6-BABIES ARE MESSY

You once had a beautiful home. Now, not so much. You might have to reconsider getting that beautiful clear glass coffee table. Child proofing that sucker wont be “Elle Décor” approved. Oh, and there will be toys everywhere. I’d rather step on a bed of thorns than on another fucking LEGO, them things hurt.

7-YOU WORRY

Once upon a time my only worry was that my gossiping might get back to the person I was gossiping about. Now I am tasked with raising a good human-being, as if I know how to do that. Ugh, “as if!”

Oh well, time to grow up. Being a mom is a wonderful, life changing experience. I’ve matured in ways I did not think I could. Everyone says the cliché shit of, “being a mom is the best thing that has ever happened to me”. They say that because it is true!