Tag Archives: Wine

365 Days of 30

14 Dec

I’m a day late and a dollar short, but you’re gonna sit down and read this. Why? Because, we’re about to embark on a journey. Not a journey of the average variety. This is a journey of Var from December 8, 2009, to December 8, 2010. A journey of food, eating, sleeping, pooping, drinking, pissing, and an occasional ‘fuck your life’ and ‘kiss my ass.’

You’re about to get a glimpse into the first year of a 30 year old. The do’s and don’ts. While reading this you’ll learn what it’s like not to have as much sex as you like in your thirtieth year. How a new chapter of life was started, new friends made, good-bye said to some, and the others – they need to be strangled.

Oh yes, my friends, this is a journey. One that you’ve pretty much heard the extent of already. One that I’m honestly tired of rambling about.

How do you like my attempt at the dramatic? Don’t judge me. I know it was an #epicfail. Jerks!

No. Seriously, this first year of my thirties has been one of great transformation. I’ve never felt more alive than now. The world is my oyster, and I’m going to take it by storm. This feeling of control is quite exhilarating. With full clarity, I understand that I’m my sole determinant and the only one that can stand in my way.

It is weird feeling like an “adult”–whatever in the hell that’s suppose to mean. But I am starting to react differently to situations and view my life from a slightly awkward angle. I feel the need for grown up things in my apartment. For the abode not to look so much like a bachelor pad or dormitory. I want to do things with my friends that resemble the scenes I witnessed my parents act out when I was a kid. Now I entertain; not just pre-party. Shit, my 31st birthday was a sophisticated(?) birthday with two friends at a nice restaurant and a night cap at a local pub, complete with a fantastic Gin Gimlet.

Did I mention the early bedtimes? Holy titty fucker of Mary Magdalene, I’ve become no stranger to a 9pm nighty-night–sometimes 8:30. Hard to say most nights. Sport, can I get an amen?

Many of you scoundrels are in your thirties already and have your on war stories about year 30. To you, I charge you to share those in the comments. For those that are entering your thirtieth year (or close to it), know that you are about to own this shit.

Okay. Now I’m tired. I have a glass of wine to finish and bed. Scoundrels vs. the wine. You weigh it out and tell which wins. Deuces, bitches!

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The Sophistication of Boning in Your 30s.

8 Nov

Image courtesy of http://shine.yahoo.com

Come on. You and I both know there is none. Just because a glass…well, bottle or two of wine is involved before the panting, sweating, and climaxing, that does not make sophistication. I was over on The Denver Omelette this morning reading about the “come over and watch a movie” move that we all have experienced in one way or another, and Betty Steele mentioned “that at 13 [the] make out sesh typically doesn’t happen until at least the 3rd movie of the night and some sweaty-palm hand-holding.  While at 31 it has sped up to 2 glasses of wine and the end of opening credits.”

This got me to thinking. So I asked myself, “Var, does the wine make the banging process more sophisticated?” Hell naww. We’ll just find any excuse to be alcoholics. Honestly, we should probably skip the wine anyway. It’s only going to decrease functionality of certain phallic paraphernalia. Which I’ve gotta say, I like for mine to be at 100% when I’m trying to knock someone’s back out.

Sidebar: In the middle of writing this, I jumped back over to TDO and noticed that Sport commented on their blog post.  Sport: Is it weird that I bring a porno with me when invited to “come over and watch a movie”? <–Thanks, Sport. Point proven.

I guess all I’m trying to say is let’s be the animals we are and fuck like rabbits. I don’t want to seem fancy before we do the deed. I just want to do the deed. Yadda mean?

Btw, I think I need to get booty. This is the second time I’ve talked about sex in 2 posts.

Cattle call!

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