There are few things in this life that young Rocks Off loves more than a gang of cougars on the town spilling wine on the ground and trying to light the wrong end of a borrowed cigarette whilst slurring in our direction that she likes our tattoos before drunkenly pawing at us. We think it's a mental throwback to all those peculiar crushes we had on our teachers growing up. Plus if you play your cards right, they will buy you stuff, like cab fare.
In the past decade or so, the term "cougar" has come into the social lexicon. One could trace it back to the 1999 film
American Pie, where Jennifer Coolidge played the original modern MILF, a sort of Mrs. Robinson for Generation Y with a devastating sexual hunger, hefty alimony checks, children away at college and an SUV with a big back seat. Don't get started on the new "puma" subculture, made up of unmarried girls 27 to 35 stalking the bars for young men who have just reached legal drinking age.
Blame the slow and steady decline of marriage in modern America for putting all these old-enough-to-know-better vixens decked out in Bebe and Banana Republic onto the bar scene to live out their Whitesnake video fantasies on some young bucks who look like extras from the
Twilight movies. Bonus points if you look like the exact opposite of their dopey weekend-warrior hunter ex-husband who left her for a waitress at Joe's Crab Shack. Let's just say that if you aren't wearing a Magellan shirt, you will win.
Houston is awash in cougar dens, populated by women and their gal-pals who come into the city to forage for young things in tight boxer briefs with a sexual appetite that will sate their own. It's science. These guys' exuberance matches the cougars' ample libido, creating a perfect storm of guilt, Liz Phair songs and embarrassing explanations that the divorce isn't finalized, but you are more than welcome to the bathroom. Just not the one on the right, that's the kids'.
So where does a cougar go in Houston to get her single-man fix? Rocks Off has seen quite a few packs roaming the streets, especially in Midtown, Washington Avenue, near the Galleria, and at almost every Mexican restaurant that serves margaritas. If the cougars ever rose up to create their own republic, it's a fact that the flag would be pink, with a pair of big sunglasses and a frozen margarita all covered in rhinestones in the middle.
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