UrbanDictionary supplied several bluntly appalling yet informative definitions:
... A 35+ year old female who is on the "hunt" for a much younger, energetic, willing-to-do-anything male. The cougar can frequently be seen in a padded bra, cleavage exposed, propped up against a swanky bar ... waiting, watching, calculating; gearing up to sink her claws into an innocent young and strapping buck who happens to cross her path. 'Man is cougar's number one prey' ..."
... An older woman who frequents clubs in order to score with a much younger man. The cougar can be anyone from an overly surgically altered wind tunnel victim, to an absolute sad and bloated old horn-meister, to a real hottie or milf. Cougars are gaining in popularity -- particularly the true hotties -- as young men find not only a sexual high, but many times a chick with her sh-t together..."
... An attractive woman in her 30's or 40's who is on the hunt once again. She may be found in the usual hunting grounds: nightclubs, bars, beaches, etc. She will not play the usual B.S. games that women in their early twenties participate in. End state, she will be going for the kill, just like you. ...
HMM!!! Quite interesting! I kinda actually like the sound of that!
Well despite being blatantly told by Newman & Wade that I am "too young" to be a Cougar,I'm toying with the idea of joining this segment of the dating pool. 
If the men my age insist on acting like 22 year-old frat boys in some pre-midlife-crisis-delusion, then why shouldn't I just go ahead and find myself an authentic 22 year-old frat boy, who will probably act like a 34 year-old in his effort to impress his new "lady friend"??
Hahahahahah. Me. A "lady friend". HAHAHAHAHAHA.
That notion cracks me up. I am so not a "lady". "Friend", maybe. "Lady", absolutely not. And at the rate it's going, I probably sound like a "predator", too.
I'm tired of the middle of the night texting, the mind games, and the "I tried to say hi but you ignored me" nonsense. (And you're right, I was ignoring you, because you insist on texting me instead of calling me and having a conversation. Or worse, actually coming up to me in a public place and owning up to the fact that we've been seeing each other. But I digress.)
Truth is, I'm not tired of it if you are actually a year or two out of college, living out of Yaffa blocks and sleeping on your fancy 2nd generation Ikea futon. I'm okay with it if you love drinking at the Ivy because of the $2 beer, and if you call yourself a cigar aficionado because you carry Swisher Sweets. Because if your driver's license proclaims a year that I actually remember living through, or a time when shoulder pads and Wham! were the culture-du-jour, then I might be your girl. Er, uh, I mean, lady.
I crossed thirty a couple years ago, and I kinda don't love it. I've been going to baby showers for girls whose diapers I used to change, I'm getting ousted from "couples dinners", and I have no shame in sleeping through an entire day, maybe getting up once or twice to go to the bathroom and have a little Facebook time.
I'm kinda not ready to Be An Adult. And frankly, I am 0% ashamed of it.
It's just an issue when I try to connect with like-minded individuals, i.e. guys my age in a similar life situation. I mean, you guys that remain single and left planning the tame bachelor parties for your buddies, striking out with the pretty blonde at the bar who thinks you're "middle-aged", and sleeping on your fancy brand-new Ikea futon. You'd think that we'd be an automatic, obvious perfect combination. Not so much. I'm discovering you're the kind of guy I don't want my new young paramour to turn into.
So this is my mission: it is my job to prevent you young boys with a taste for "older women" to not become the slacker thirty-something guy of the future. Text me all you want at 2AM. Send me naughty messages that will make me blush when I read them in the cold light of the coffee line at 7AM. Say wildly inappropriate things to me when we're out in public. Go ahead, tell all your friends, even after you swear you'll never "kiss 'n tell".
'Coz it's okay. Really, it's okay with me. Because you're young, so I'm giving you a free pass. Plus, you need to get it out of your system so you're not pulling this crap after you yourself cross thirty.
Because when you boys pass thirty, you'll be mature enough to land a hot broad in her forties.
That might be me, too. :)
-- fin --
The Follow-Up
Fast forward to yesterday. Sitting in The Relaxation Room at Koi (more on that later), I caught up with my old friend, Cosmo magazine. We casually entertained each other, while Cos filled me in on the latest goings-on in the world of the Modern Single "It" Girl (or reasonable facsimiles thereof, wannabes such as myself.) Apparently, I truly am not a Cougar, since I'm too young to pull off the moniker. According to the Cos, I am a PUMA. Yes, as in the sneaker, but not related at all to footwear.
Immediately went to consult with my Undercover Operative On Such Matters Related To Cougar Activity. He is my recently appointed liasion to potentially cougar-like behavior, and is the only opinion I will consider on this stealthy topic. Don't ask me how he got this job.
So I just picked up this month's Cosmo. Pumas are on the rise:
women in their 30s preying on younger men. I guess that makes me a
puma...?
Several hours passed while he carefully considered my query, and after a sufficient period of time (way past my bedtime, but showtime in the Time Zone for the Young) he texted me back with the official declaration:
Haha, guess so.
So there it is, folks. I've consulted with the experts. Examined my motives, inspected my behavior, and have therefore accepted that I am a Puma. And it sure is a heck more interesting than wasting any more time on the men my age.
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