Weirdo Wednesday

Weirdo Wednesday Moment #1:

Sitting next to me in the dermatologist’s office waiting room was a well-coiffed, perfectly made up elderly Southern woman. Think grand dame of the Junior League… probably has a house on Pawley’s Island and makes a mean mint julep before services at one of the many first baptist churches.
Anywho… they called this lady’s name and she replied with “Just one minute, darlin’, I’ve got to visit the powder room.” (Yes, powder room.) With that, our heroine stood up slowly and clacked across the waiting room with her walker.
And moseyed her refined old lady behind right into the MEN’S BATHROOM.
My first thought, of course, was gee, I hope nobody’s in there because I’m pretty sure it’s bad form to laugh your ass off at an old lady in public. Well, that and I didn’t want her to have a heart attack. ‘Cause I’m CPR certified and I’d have felt compelled to help and I was wearing a skirt and I didn’t want anyone to see my drawers while I was trying to do chest compressions. (Yes, Mom, I was wearing drawers. Clean ones.)
But apparently no one was in there. So in my continued quest to preserve my modesty (yes, Mom, I DO HAVE SOME), I stood outside the door and diverted two men who sought out the facilities while Grandma was still inside.
Our Lady of the Mint Juleps emerged a little later, and apparently hadn’t noticed her faux pas. She told the nurses “All right, ladies, I’m ready now.” And off she went through the waiting room doors to the dermatology inner sanctum.
At this point, the receptionist said quietly “I guess the urinal on the wall didn’t clue her in…” And I collapsed laughing.
Extra points to my Mom, who upon hearing this story said “You don’t know… maybe she went in there on purpose… you know…. trying to catch a little peek?”
And if she did, I say more power to her.

Weirdo Wednesday Moment #2:

I’m one of those weirdos who looks at someone’s purchases and spends a few moments analyzing/judging the person in front of me. (Shut up. You know you totally do it too.)
Last night there was young black man dressed in a construction company uniform in line in front of me. He bought this:
A whole fresh pineapple
A bottle of mineral oil
A toilet brush

Three words:
DON’T. WANNA. KNOW.

I'm not dead yet! (But the parrot is!)

Before I even start, let me say this.
Virginia Tech Faculty, Staff, Parents, & Students: I am so sorry. I cannot even imagine..
To the parents of Cho Seung-hui: I am so sorry. You’re in your own hell, I’m sure.

Blog? What blog? OH! THIS blog! Contrary to my ex’s wet dreams, I did not slide under a gas truck and taste my own blood. I am alive and well… just have been horrifically busy.
My middle sister done got herself hitched up over the weekend. I’ll regale you with the details later. For now, we will just say that it was like all the other family weddings: loud, happy, hug-laden fun. But since that post will require far more time and brain cells than I have available right now, I give you…
Ranting about random shit! With your brilliant and (might I add) TOTALLY hot host, ME!

From the “we told you so, you crazy right-wingers” file…
http://www.cnn.com/2007/EDUCATION/04/13/abstinence.study.ap/index.html
So, let’s see… you gave the government $175 million to tell kids “Don’t have sex of any kind until you’re married… because it’s morally correct… and we said so… trust us!” And then it required a government-funded study to establish that this methodology didn’t work? I tell you what… you could have spent $3.75 on a venti latte and obtained the same information from any semi-realistic parent of a teenager. Know what figures I’d like to see? The total amount that will be shelled out to deal with the unwanted pregnancies and STIs of these undereducated kids. My favorite part is the leader of the Abstinence Education Group discounting the study because it was done when the programs were “in their infancy”. (Does anyone else find that expression funny here?) Anyone ever won a game with a kid only to hear “but… but…. I wasn’t ready!”

People, when will we let go of our Puritanical discomfort and start TALKING ABOUT SEX with kids? And I mean really talking about it, not just lecturing on an antiquated model like abstinence and then only wanting to think or hear about the “right” answers (the ones we’re comfortable with) from our kids. When I am Empress of the Universe, we will hand out birth control pills and condoms with locker combinations. We will start in 5th and 6th grade teaching that masturbation is a healthy and age-appropriate form of sexual expression. We will gift every 14 year-old girl with a vibrator. (Seriously! How much fun will the fumblings of a 14 y.o. boy seem like if she’s spent time with the Rabbit Pearl?) Better yet, I’ll just hire the folks at Good Vibes to run the whole shebang. (HA! Shebang… LOL) They know more than I do. Then we’ll raise kids who have some degree of knowledge about their bodies and the human reproductive system, which means they will be far less likely to get pregnant or diseased. OH, and then guess what else? They also won’t come up thinking sex is dirty and bad and related to hellfire, so maybe they’ll TALK TO THEIR OWN KIDS ABOUT SEX. We are not just laying the groundwork for these kids lives, but for their children as well. Clearly cramming the moral agenda down their throats isn’t working.

I think the epitome of all this prudish bullshit is the hysteria over Guardasil. Let me see, asshole-right-wing parents, you are willing to risk your daughter’s LIFE because you don’t want to have a short, highly clinical conversation about HPV? How incredibly f***ed up do you have to be to refuse something that may prevent your child from DYING just to avoid entertaining the notion that your child may one day have sex? And people, we’re not even talking about having to acknowledge premarital sex! Your baby girl may preserve herself in sweet holy chastity until her wedding day and STILL wind up with HPV thanks to an undereducated or philandering husband or (God forbid) a sexual assault. I’m sorry, but parents who argue against making this vaccine part of the immunization cycle because it might “encourage” sexual activity are squeamish, selfish, prudish, ignorant assholes. (And they’re TOTALLY asking for their kid to join a live sex show in Amsterdam, might I add…) This is not about what it might “enourage”, but about conversations and concessions these people can’t handle. Their comfort level does not trump their child’s right to health. Your child will one day be a sexual being. And that includes risks. You have an opportunity to eliminate one of those risks for them. What the hell kind of parent objects to that?

All right… new rant. This one containing absolutely no brand-specific vibrator references whatsoever. (Oh thank God, sayeth my father!)

I work in corporate training. I like teaching/training people. I enjoy it, I truly do.

I hate teaching people to teach.

It’s called “train-the-trainer” in our professional circles and frankly, it sucks. There are several reasons I do not like doing this:
1. The trainers you are trying to teach usually believe that training is stupidly easy and anyone of their lofty intelligence can do it instinctively sans preparation. (Hello? And you pay me for what? My great lasagna recipe?) Seriously, most of them think that effective teaching requires no more than subject matter expertise and org-chart-sanctioned authority.
2. They never read the materials you give them. NEVER. I could insert several paragraphs describing my nefarious plan to destroy all the birds of Earth and to build a giant intergalactic gazebo over the planet blocking out the sun and then laugh maniacally as the smug gardening people cannot keep their precious plants alive… muah ha ha ha ha! You won’t be giving me fun little green thumb tips anymore, WILL YOU??? Stupid happy plant peop-… oh my… sorry. But really, I could put it all in there. They’d never notice.
3. Most people who want to provide training don’t have the personality to do it. You think this kind of sparkling effervescence and wit is handed out to everyone? Puh-lease. It’s a professional commodity- like J. Lo’s booty.

My latest endeavor involves training a few members of senior management to provide diversity training at the field offices. Oy. Motherf***ing. Vay. Several of them are excellent- they’ll facilitate beautifully and the program will be wonderful. Several of them will suck at it and will come back to complain that the program we selected wasn’t effective AT ALL. Unfortunately, most of the folks receiving the training won’t make the distinction beween crappy trainer/training correctly either. Whut-evah!

As my amazing Grandma likes to say, there’s no use arguing with the once-born.

Oh, and here's two fun facts courtesy of our new friend Bleu.
1. The time it takes for an 80-pound lab to reach and eat the 1/2 a pie you left on your kitchen counter is about 3 seconds less than the time it takes for you to make it down the stairs.
2. An 80-pound lab can consume up to 10 oz. of baking chocolate without serious health consequences, but 2 ounces in a pie is enough to make for a few nasty surprises in the backyard.

Ciao, dollies!

It's a Boy! Mazel Tov!

2 soft-hearted doggy parents
+ 1 large dog-friendly SUV
+ 1 busy road
+ 1 dirty, hungry, but VERY sweet black lab
+ 1 visit to the vet for shots and a bath
=
A new happy family!

Everyone, meet Bleu, our newest addition to the House O’ Crazy!

Bleu, would you like to introduce yourself?

Hi, I’m Bleu! I’m a laid back sweet boy with good manners and a soft heart. I love to eat and to spend a nice warm summer day laying on the dec---- OH MY GOD! IS THAT A BALL??? BALL!!! BALL!!! THROW IT, PUH-LEEEEEEEASE!!!!!
Oh, sorry… it was just your empty hand. Coulda’ sworn it was a ball. Anywho… I’m Bleu and I’m two years old, give or take. I’ll be spending some time loping ‘round the back yard with my sister, Daisy. She’s a great friend… I sure do wish she’d quite trying to hump me, though… On the 19th, I’m going back to see the nice ladies at the vet to get “fixed”. I don’t know what needs to be fixed, but if it feels as good as that bath they gave me- TREAT!! THAT WAS A TREAT!!! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE GIVE ME THE TREAT!!!
Oh, crap… sorry… your hand again.

*Ahem* I think that’s enough from Bleu right now. So we’re a family of five: us, Bleu, Daisy, and Bob. I’d love to have a family picture, but Bob is claiming conscientious objection. I don’t think she really knows what that means, but I’m not calling her bluff because somebody keeps leaving my dictionary of pop culture out…

The Progesterone Prayer

Dear Lord Baby Jesus:

I am trying hard to follow your teachings- to treat all of your children with the same love and compassion you would have shown them and to banish hatred and anger from my heart.

But Lord… verily, I say unto thee… I could use a little help. How about starting up a gal’s period before one of your dumber children meets with a bloody, untimely end?

Your humble, but very bloated, servant,

ME

Announcing the first Pink Velour Cake Award!

Life, Liberty, & Vodka Tonics is proud to introduce a new semi-regular feature:

The Pink Velour Cake Award!

Long-time readers will recall my attempts at making red velvet cake, which resulted in the affectionately nicknamed pink velour cake.

Exhibit A: Crap on a Cake Plate

And so, dear friends, LL&VT will now be awarding the Pink Velour Cake Award for excellence in culinary disaster!

This week’s recipient is my sister’s friend and coworker, Liz, for her amazing expanding meatloaf. Behold…

What’s that you ask? How can something as simple as meatloaf go so horribly wrong?

As I understand it, the meatloaf had a sort of allergic reaction to the topping- swelling up like spray insulation. It seems this particular meatloaf recipe involves Grape Nuts cereal and those little nuggets can expand mighty fast. Do you remember those little capsules we got as kids- you’d drop them into hot water and ten minutes later have a dinosaur shaped sponge? Kind of like that, only apparently quite delicious. (Which I totally believe… because the recipe has THREE POUNDS OF MEAT in it- how can that NOT be scrumptious???)

Anywho- mazel tov, Liz! You are our very first Pink Velour Cake Award winner!

Want to nominate yourself or someone you know for a Pink Velour Cake Award? Just send an email describing the dish, what went wrong, any hilarioius hijinks associated with the creation of the dish, and (preferably) a photo of the disaster in jpeg format. Send submissions to lifelibertyandvodkatonics@yahoo.com. LL&VT reserves the right to reject entries that are boring, sucky, or appear to have been sent by Republicans.

**LL&VT would like to remind you that this award does not come with any cash value, prizes, or any other redeeming qualities. The Pink Velour Cake Award is not suitable for résumés. LL&VT is not liable for any injuries or damages incurred while celebrating this award with alcohol consumption.

NSB 1967-2007

I’ve sort of been at a loss for what to say here lately.
A woman I worked with reasonably closely was laid off Friday before last.
She died of a heart attack the following Wednesday.
She had three children.
She was 39.

Her death has really thrown me for a loop, which I find surprising. She and I didn’t socialize outside of work and we weren’t terribly close. But there was a kind of kinship between us- we were the loud, outspoken, ballsy broads who tangled with V.D. on a regular basis. She was my partner in bitchy crime. Only she was braver than I was and less concerned with being polite. I never saw her intimidated by anyone. Her abject refusal to give a flying f*** what anyone thought about her might have lost her some professional respect on occasion, but she was unapologetically honest and never tolerated someone trying to disrespect her. She called a spade a f***ing spade. Sure, she was extreme and probably needed to tone it down and “play the game” a bit. But she didn’t. And she didn’t care. And it was what I admired about her most. Being around her made me stronger and more sure of myself. She was an enabler for my inner bitch, God bless her. I’m finding it hard to believe that someone who was not only so young, but such a force, such a powerful person, is now gone.

I should mention, too, that she was absolutely irreverently hilarious. And passionately committed to her kids. That was the thing about her- she was tough and blunt and forceful. But she also had a heart of gold and would fight things that weren’t right in a skinny minute. And then she’d come into my office and we’d have a good laugh about it all. I will miss her laugh and her passion. I will miss how brave I was around her.

I think the best way I can honor her is to be that brave ballsy woman more often. And so I will. For her, you know. You can’t disrespect the dead.

So vaya con dios, my strong woman friend. I am a better person for having worked with you. Give ‘em hell up there.

A Death in the Family

This afternoon, a great tragedy has befallen our little household.


the PS2 has gone to the great GameStop in the sky... *SNIFF*

A moment of silence, please.


Husband is distraught, seeing as he resigned from his old job yesterday and they declined his offer to work a notice. So he has a full week to kill before the new job begins. A full WEEK. With NO PS2! And a new Tiger Woods golf game! Oh, the humanity!



In other news, the updates have been slow because I am fighting off the plague. The so-called medical professionals say it's bronchitis, but my money's on the black death. Or in my case, the yellowy-green death, since that's the color of the stuff I've been hacking up. (You're hot for me now, aren't you?) I went to the doc on Monday convinced I just really needed something stronger than Claritin for my allergies, but the kind nurse quickly informed me that allergies don't generally come with a 101.2 degree fever. Huh... go figure. Note to self: next time you hack up your pancreas, take your temperature and get to the doc sooner.

Wild and sort of scary times at work. The W reign of terror has caused money troubles for Medicare and it's contractors. Jobs have been lost and in the end, crooks will take your Medicare trust fund dollars. So way to go, guys! And did you see this business with Gonzales and the US attorneys? Seriously... would someone please just blow W so we can end this already???

God is good! (And pissed at Ann Coulter.)

Dear Lord,
I know it is wrong to rejoice in other people’s troubles. I know I should not feel good when someone I do not like falls upon difficult times. In my heart, I know it is wrong to enjoy the slow demise of someone’s career, even when they bring it upon themselves with their own hatefulness and ignorance. So, Lord, please forgive that little happy dance in my bathrobe this morning when one of the newscasters opened with “conservatives are distancing themselves from Ann Coulter…”. And please know that I am trying hard to be repentant for hollering “take that, beeyatch!” when I saw this.

It is because of her hatefulness and ignorance, Lord, that I cannot help but think that perhaps you, in your infinite wisdom, are smiting Ann Coulter. I realize that it is not my place to judge her, Lord, but is it wrong for me to agree when you do? If thou hast seen fit to punish Ann Coulter by depriving her of the right-wing approval she so craves, then what can I do but rejoice knowing that you are just and fair? Surely, in thine eyes, my faith in your judgment of the wicked outweighs my smug sense of vengeance.

If you are smiting Ann Coulter, Lord, then yea, truly and verily, I say unto you, WAY TO KICK SOME MORTAL ASS! And please don’t smite me for thinking so. I promise, I really am trying to be contrite about it.

Praise be to the kind and gracious God who gave us Jesus, Thin Mints, and Ann Taylor.
AMEN.

Meredith F***ing Viera, AGAIN.

Dear God, I cannot stand that woman.

Meredith had a serious news piece (*snort*) this morning on "hooking up". Seems some young woman has written a book about sex-only relationships and young women, etc. etc. The piece itself was garbage that seemed to be aimed at alarming parents of young girls, as usual.

They had some "expert" on with her as well who kept insisting that it was sooo troubling that love and relationships were being left out of this discussion. You know, 'cause healthy grown women have to have those things- they couldn't possibly choose just to have some crazy mad screw for the hell of it . She also told us that hooking up is VERY different and much worse than the free love of her 60s generation because that had "love" in it and it was a "political statement". Uh-huh. Oh, I should mention that the so-called expert was wearing Melissa's boots and haircut, but she was about 70. Note to expert: the young hip subtlety sexy thing works on a 30-something hot mama. Kind of ridiculous on someone with AARP eligibility.

But I digress. My point was that Meredith's parting shot for the segment was to ask this hard-hitting journalistic tour de force:
"What about that old saying ... you know... why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"
And then my brain exploded. No, seriously.... did she JUST SAY THAT? Did this supposed pro-woman news anchor just perpetuate a horribly sexist cliche comparing a woman to a FARM ANIMAL and implying a woman's value is diminished by lack of sexual purity???? You heard it from Meredith, gals- don't give it away or you won't land yourself a good man!

OH.MY.GOD.
I never thought I'd say this, but please, for the love of God, bring back Katie!!!!! For that matter, get ANYONE ELSE except this woman! How much longer will this kind of inane misogynistic bullshit be tolerated as actual journalism? Is she supposed to pull in that 20-30-something female demographic? 'Cause I'm betting comparing us to defiled cattle isn't the way to go.

Call me Ishmyelle...

Husband and I have a running collection of stripper names. You know… names that inspire thoughts of mirrored walls and the perpetual smell of French vanilla. Seriously! You know it’s true- some kids have names that just instinctively suggest they will be paying their electric bill with singles. Here are some examples:
Destiny
Jade
Cheyenne
Rainn
Sierra
Shawna
Tristan

Other names that qualify are attempts at unique spellings of relatively normal names. They often start with a K rather than a C or they replace the Y on the end with EE, etc. etc. For instance:
Kamryn
Kristal
Destinee
Ebonee
Jewyl
Rayne

We were watching the “Birthday Board” on the local morning news today and there was a 1-year-old baby girl named… TAMRYN. I’m sure Little Tamryn will have hours of fun with the Fisher-Price “My First Pole”.

And behold! Once again, the great almighty Internet shall provide for all our needs!
A Quiz to Learn Your Secret Stripper Name

My secret stripper name? Gigi, apparently. Only I would spell it JiJi.

Comments are open- share your favorite stripper name, Blogites!

Forget the driver's license... ask to see her purse!

Wild times at our house, Blogites; hence the lack of updates. I wish I could say they were the good bacchanalian kind of wild times with the wine and decadent food and crazy sex and whatnot. But no. Not so much. Think more along the lines of decaf coffee and grilled chicken and abstinence on account of narcotic pain relievers.

But at the end of it all, Husband seems to be feeling much better. He’s taking a drug called Topamax, which he has affectionately renamed Potamax for it’s groovy side effects. The drug seems to be preventing the headaches, so he’s working on adjusting to the foggy-headed feeling and his new affinity for Cheech & Chong movies.

Middle Sister called this weekend in the midst of a heart-wrenching dilemma I know all too well: the switch to the big purse. In our teens on through our mid to late 20s, women are willing to carry these minute little vessels that we pass off as purses, but are actually no larger than your average espresso cup. The limited storage capacity works just fine when all you really need to get by is some lip gloss, your cell phone, and a condom.

But there comes a point in every woman’s life when she finds that the cute little nightclub purses no longer cut it. The moment has been creeping up on you for years. Many women will even walk around with their Lillputian purses unzipped and bulging at the seams. Want to spot the woman over 25 in the group? Look for the itty-bitty purse with the car keys sticking out of the top because her gym and grocery store discount key ring cards won’t fit inside. (And lip gloss doesn’t hide the dark circles under her eyes.) Logic dictates a bigger bag, but vanity wins out for many many years. We are desperate to avoid our awful destiny: the mom purse.

I’ve decided that it’s really a sort of rite passage- the day you find you are less concerned with a teeny purse and more concerned with actually having room for all the shit you need to carry around. If you have ever looked at a little bag and thought “huh… that’s never gonna hold my calendar AND my mini-umbrella!,” well, my friend… your time has come. As I said to middle sister this weekend, come over to the dark side and get yourself a big ol’ tote bag! You will find that the pleasure you once took in looking hip with that little tic-tac-sized change purse has been replaced by the relief you feel at having your Clorox pen handy.

I myself have gone to the aforementioned gigantor tote bag a little early in life in part because I frequently carry snacks for hypoglycemic Husband. (Yeah… for Husband… that’s right… ) I also carry a wide array of over-the-counter remedies for my very persnickety tummy. One of my college girlfriends went to the big purse right out of college because she’s very short and wears heels to appointments… but she can’t drive her stick-shift car in them. And we all discovered that professional-woman hair and makeup requires a few more maintenance tools than just a rubber-band to hold back your locks should you consume too much Purple Jesus. (A note: if your hosts have mixed the PJ in the bathtub, they will be less than enthusiastic about letting you vomit in the toilet next to said tub.)

I’ve also noticed that the size of the purse is directly proportional to the number of people and the needs of the people for whom the woman feels responsible for caring. Some women simply give up a purse all together when their children are small and just toss their own stuff into the diaper bag. (Want to pick her out in the ladies room? Look for the woman brushing Cheerio dust out of her hairbrush.) I remember my Mom and older sister’s purses as veritable treasure chests of neato stuff. No matter what the delay or situation or complication, they were prepared. Mom always had Ziploc bags in her purse because of my propensity for vomiting when I was carsick/scared/upset/nervous/excited/getting blood drawn. (You get the point- I was a regular little Linda Blair.) My sister once produced half a barnyard’s worth of little plastic animals, a sippy cup, and a stuffed toucan from her purse to soothe her irritable toddler in a hospital waiting room right after she changed his diaper, washed his face, and medicated him with materials from the same bag. It was impressive.

I think it all boils down to the same reason you don’t see tons of older folks camping. There comes a point in your life when having access to the little conveniences and comforts contributes mightily to your disposition. In my 30s, my idea of “roughing it” has come to mean a hotel without an adequate spa. Similarly, I am now highly annoyed if I’m caught without Tums and my round boar bristle brush. When you’re no longer distressed if you don’t get carded, why not get a purse that holds more than your driver’s license?

Don’t get me wrong, I get a faint sense of nostalgia when I see a cute little hipster out with her bag the size of a walnut. But when those four-inch stiletto shoes she’s wearing give her a blister, it’s nice to know I can give her a Band-Aid.

These words don't even begin to cover it...

http://www.cnn.com/2007/HEALTH/02/20/tiny.baby.ap/index.html

Wow. Just… wow.

This amazing gal, Amilia, was born at 21 weeks and 6 days gestation. My Cecilia was stillborn at 20 weeks and 5 days. Cecilia outweighed Amilia by four ounces.

The sight of her little newborn body makes me cry- it looks so eerily familiar in some ways. I feel oddly connected to her and my heart is full of joy and hope for her and her family. I know how it feels to hold a tiny, fragile body like hers and I am profoundly grateful that their experience is with a living child, however tiny and fragile.

Amilia is going home today, four months old and four and a half pounds.

Wow.

Lots of love and luck, sweet Amilia!
Cecilia’s Mommy.

The Medicated Husband: Fun for Everyone!

Husband: These migraine prevention drugs are giving me really really bizarre dreams.

Me: Like what?

H: Last night I had one that was a Christmas musical.

M: A Christmas musical???

H: Yeah, you know… like Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

M: Like the animated Burl Ives one?

H: Yeah, except the people I know were the characters and we were all singing this song… but I can’t exactly remember the words.

M: That’s probably best. Was I Herbie?

H: No, no… we were all ourselves… just with big giant heads on little tiny clay bodies.

M: Oh, dang. I was sure my Dad would have been Yukon Cornelius. And I was Herbie.

H: Nope. But you still had big boobies…. big lovely claymation boobies.

Marshmallow Blog: This one's full of fluff!

Me: Holy Crap! The Today Show anchors are sampling some hot chocolate that costs TWENTY-NINE DOLLARS A POUND! That’d better be some good damn hot chocolate!

Husband: Where’s it from?

Me: Um… France, apparently.

Husband: Shit… the French should be GIVING us that hot chocolate… you know, since we liberated their asses…. TWICE.

Move over, John Bolton! Can you imagine the bi-partisan support Husband's nomination would get? He negotiates in CHOCOLATE, people!
Husband had a tough week. He’s had 5 major migraine headaches in 9 days. The worst one hit on Thursday and the poor guy wound up being injected with a lot of drugs and getting a CT scan. (Mercifully, the scan was clear.)
On Thursday night, he was climbing the stairs to bed and says in a weak voice with a Demerol-and-Imitirex-cocktail-induced slur:
“I shtill havea Ban-Aid on my ash….”
The offending (and apparently itchy) Band-Aid was removed and he lapsed into a coma.

In other totally fluffy brainless weekend blog fodder, it seems Britney Spears has shaved her head. I’m sure this anti-hairdo is part of some post-divorce self awakening in which she rejects her teeny bopper past and seeks to be taken seriously as an “artist”. (Haven’t you heard? She’s mounting a comeback.) Unfortunately for her, she’s not old enough to remember Sinead’s 15 minutes in the early 90s. This is going to end badly- watch for her to tear up a picture of Billy Graham on SNL.

Celebrity Denouncement Time! On behalf of all thinking women of the world, I hereby strip John Mayer of his hottie status until he ends this relationship with Jessica Simpson. We are disappointed in you John, but we know you are a 20-something boy newly awash in fame, so we will suspend final judgment in hopes that this is simply your requisite dating-a-string-of-unsuitable-bimbos phase. We don’t begrudge you dating a woman of commensurate hotness, but please find one that actually has talent and … oh… say… didn’t star as DAISY F***ING DUKE! To think that you might actually be that shallow- well, it’s a waste we can’t live with.

Warning: Bleeding Heart Propaganda

Thanks to Stephanie over at Creature Bug for this:

FREE HUGS

Made me weepy at work on a Friday morning. Gratuitous displays of basic human kindness set to indie rock will do that to a gal.

"Wherever there is a human being there is an opportunity for kindness" -- Seneca

Meredith Viera: Still Stupid

Oh, that wacky Meredith Viera is at again! Seems our little plan worked, Blogites, and the Today show got walloped with emails about the Momtini piece. A follow up segment appeared yesterday. They were quick to point out they got emails for AND against drinking on playdates. But it’s funny, they only read one con email and it was inarticulate and preachy. They also left out the emails like mine that called Meredith on the carpet for being an asswipe during the original interview- quelle surprise!

This segment was much better, though. Meredith and the “doctor” were much more balanced and they had a terrific smart-ass writer, Stefanie Wilder-Taylor, on. (You have GOT to love a woman whose book is titled Sippy Cups are Not for Chardonnay: And Other Things I Had to Learn as a New Mom!)

This is my favorite part of today’s “news” piece:
(On emails about the absence of comment on DADS drinking in front of kids…)
Meredith: "IS there a gender bias here?"
“Doctor”: "No, absolutely not."
WHA-WHA-WHAAAAAT???? Is anyone else disturbed by the fact that this supposed psychological professional clearly does not live in reality???

I also love the email they read about all the doomsday disastrous things that could happen to kids on playdates. Is the assumption that if mothers don't drink, they will be able to protect kids from all those things? Most of the kids I know have endured a few good solid falls or knocks to the head regardless of the vigilance of their parents. Besides, I can have WAY more than one glass of wine and still dial 9-1-1 with amazing accuracy. (Seriously- it has been tested and proven.)

If this argument goes to response time, what else are Mothers not supposed to do? I mean, really, are these women supposed to be hovering over their children at every second poised to spring into action just in case… CHILDHOOD HAPPENS? Next thing you know, reading Cosmo or typing an email while your kids play out back will be irresponsible mothering because, you know… they could fall or break an arm or join al-qaeda while you were selfishly directly elsewhere.

Folks, we all know kids whose Moms never socialized and devoted EVERY SINGLE SECOND of EVERY DAY to monitoring their children’s every move to the exclusion of their own health and happiness. Those kids do not turn out well. At best, they are inept adults frightened of the world and unable to function as normal adults. (We’ve all dated a guy whose Mom still picked out his clothes. At 35.) At worst, these kids wind up with the bodies of an entire family hidden in the deep freeze in the garage.

Ladies, relax. Have a little faith in yourself. Have a reality check. Have a drink. I promise, you’ll feel better.

Blizzard of '07

Behold. A South Carolina blizzard.

For two glorious hours yesterday morning, big white fluffy flakes fell down upon us. And then came the sleety slushy crud. And then came the cold cold rain. And then I went to work. *SIGH*

All Wednesday night, our local forecasters told us that we would have no more than cold rain. Oh, they hinted that MAYBE PERHAPS if stars collided and Lindsay Lohan took responsibility for something, we might get a little bit of a “wintry mix”. I hate that term- it’s just weatherperson speak for “might be rain, might be a blizzard, but hey, we get paid lots of money to have absolutely no f***ing clue what will actually happen!”

That mere mention of a wintry mix was enough to send half the state swarming into the grocery stores to buy milk and break. Any time there’s the remotest chance of so much as a flurry, South Carolinians go clean the stores out of milk and bread. Honest to God, vegans with wheat allergies will throw elbows at old ladies for the last package of pitas and a carton of buttermilk. Here’s my question:
WHAT THE F*** IS UP WITH MILK AND BREAD, PEOPLE?
What is it about those two food items that make them indispensable in inclement weather? Milk will spoil when a blackout kills the power to your fridge. Bread is not some superfood that will sustain your family for days should you be trapped in your home by the treacherous conditions. (Note: “treacherous conditions”= 1 inch of snow and temps in the mid-20s.)

Husband and I don’t usually make the emergency grocery run. That’s because we know that pizza delivery is a lot like the post office… you know, neither rain nor sleet nor snow nor dark of night shall keep them from their appointed rounds? Unfortunately, it’s about the same level of accuracy, too…

We WILL, however, make a much more important stop: the liquor store. Because the pizza guy won’t bring you red wine or vodka no matter how much you offer to tip. (Trust us.) And they totally should- can you imagine the money those poor minimum wage drivers would make? And how many DUIs could be avoided?

Seriously, sometimes I am so damn civic-minded, it makes me weep.

Redneck Semantics

Apparently, despite seven plus years of higher education in English-language-related fields, I have been left with a horrible deficit in my skills. Did you know that fleeing the scene of an accident is NOT the same as just leaving it?

A city councilman for one of the local municipalities was arrested for DUI this week. The facts of the case are being reported thus:
Councilman pulls out of a driveway.
Councilman smacks into the back of a PARKED TRUCK.
Councilman does not stop, but rather continues on to his son’s home where eventually authorities are called.
Councilman had consumed significant enough amounts of alcohol to still fail sobriety tests by the time police arrive at his son’s home.

Pretty straightforward, right? Enter the aforementioned son. He appeared on the local news looking very professional in his Grizzly-Adams-esque beard, NASCAR t-shirt, and trucker hat. This dutiful son proceeded to explain that his father:
“isn’t known as a ‘drunk’, as ya might say.”
and
“didn’t really flee the accident, he just leaved.” (Yes, “leaved”.)

Now, I don’t know this man, so I cannot attest to his reputation. He may indeed not be known as a drunk. But when you are intoxicated enough to hit a PARKED VEHICLE at 1:00 p.m. on a weekday… well, I’m not sure you really need reputation to precede you.

And I hate to squabble over wording, but those seven years in school did teach me a thing or two about synonyms and context. It would seem to me that unless you leaved after the police arrived and gave you permission to do so, to flee and to leaved are about the same when it involves your departure from the site of a traffic accident.

The other high point was when the son said Councilman was “seventy-somethin’” years old. That part I understand, since I’m not so good with the cipherin’ myself. But if you’re going to be on television, at least get Maw to pull out the family Bible and find a neighbor who can subtract.

There is a small rock-star-wannabe part of me that’s sort of impressed. You’re 70-something and you can still party like that before sundown?

Rock on, Councilman. Rock on.

Just call a cab next time.

The Momtini: Threat to Western Civilization

For some time, I have been reading a blog called Suburban Bliss, written by SAHM (stay-at-home-mom) Melissa Summers. She's got a refreshingly honest and realistic take on both the joys and the challenges of parenting. Melissa has now written a book that I WILL be buying and you should too!
Melissa was recently on the Today Show representing a group of moms who have playdates during which they (*GASP*) HAVE A GLASS OF WINE! Long story short, she took a lot of shit from Meredith Viera and basically was portrayed as a drunk who is endangering her kids. For anyone who knows her and reads her blog, she is very much not that- just a mom who had the novel idea that a group of mommies sitting around in someone's backyard might like ONE glass of chardonnay. It's not a new idea. Mom's groups have been doing it forever.
Please go read her blog. Go here to see the video of the whole debaucle- just click on "launch" in the box on the right. And please read the text of my email to NBC regarding her appearance. If you agree, email them yourselves. The more shit that network takes over this f***ed up sexist ambush disguised as an interview, the better.

As a long time reader of Melissa Summers' blog, Suburban Bliss, I looked forward to her appearance on the Today show. I was shocked and disappointed with the way she was treated.
Shame on NC and shame on Meredith Viera! Melissa was clearly nervous, and Meredith bullied her. Your so-called expert contributed little to the discussion except for trite, overly-simplistic, and ultimately useless advice that about mothers needing to find healthy ways to relax.

Melissa's message was skewed entirely thanks to sensationalistic anecdotes about drunk driver moms. The tone of the entire piece was inherently sexist- Mommies can drink, but only under husbandly supervision. Neither Meredith or your "expert" could seem to make an allowance for the fact that these smart Moms are capable of controlling themselves in the presence of alcohol enough to avoid endangering their children. Apparently they're incapable of using good judgment when it comes to the booze. The message was clear- Moms, you cannot be trusted. Unless, of course, Dad is standing by- and your interviewers weren't interested in discussing the dangers of the beer in his hand!

It was a positively shameful display of sexism and bias that did a huge disservice to women and to at-home mothers everywhere. Melissa has my sympathy and my support even if your network cannot fathom women who are capable of being social human beings without sacrificing good care for their children.

Congratulations. I am officially a Good Morning America viewer.

Unprotected Sex & Fashion

Husband and I have started talking about having another baby. There. I said it. On the INTERNET for God and Oprah and everyone to read. (Question… are Oprah and God the same person? Similar uses of ridiculous power for good, I’ve noticed. And wouldn’t that just trip out the religious right- God is a black woman who lives with a man unmarried and gives money AWAY?)

But I digress. Talking about the baby. This is the part where my Mom would quote my father’s cousin, a Catholic priest named Father Pat. Father Pat was fond of saying “every baby brings its own loaf of bread.” It’s a lovely sentiment and I get the point- people should relax and have their families, God will provide, yada yada yada… I don’t discount the idea, although I think it’s a little overly simplistic. Chances are it was a well-meaning attempt to calm the fears of Catholic women with no birth control options and hence, little control over the number of babies they would have and the circumstances they would be born into.

At the moment, our kid would have to show up with a loaf of bread, some nursery furniture, a vanload of cash, and a nice Guatemalan nanny. And since I’m pretty sure those items wouldn’t be hidden in the box of elephant-sized sanitary pads the L&D ward gives you, we’re waiting.

But you know what I’ve noticed? (DAD STOP READING NOW!) When you’re over the age of 16 and gainfully employed, having unprotected sex when you know you could conceive is kind of a turn-on. Even if you plan to divert the troops, so to speak, it’s kind of hot knowing that you’re fertile and he’s there and y’know… STUFF is gonna happen! It’s kind of like the thrill of having sex in public and the potential for getting caught. Or so I’ve heard… ‘cause I haven’t done that… lately…
Mom, you can let Dad come back to the computer now.

In other news, I had a lovely visit with an old Kick-Ass-Women’s-College friend last night. She was in town for work so we cruised over to Carraba’s for a glass of vino or six. She is one of my favorite women on earth because she’s accomplished and she’s funny and she’s smart and she’s a great friend and basically I think she poos ice cream. But I have to hate her just a little bit because she has more style in her well-manicured pinkie finger than I have in my entire body. She swings out of the hotel last night after several hours on the road looking all kinds of polished sassy in some Capri pants, one of those supercute cardigans that are so “in” right now, and heels. Oh, and of course, the perfect bag. She looked like something in Oprah magazine- you know the “after work” look that’s perfect for cocktails? Casual, but not overly so. Fun, but not too young. And here’s the thing… she’s like that ALL THE F***ING TIME! I swear she made some kind of deal with Satan and got a homing device that detects perfect accessories.

Now let’s compare… Her = Polished Professional Chic. Me? I rolled up in a big comfy men’s sweater and a pair of jeans that I actually made my husband sniff to be sure they were “clean enough” to wear out. My roots have grown out enough that I am dangerously close to finding out what my natural hair color would be. To my credit, I was carrying a very cute black tote… yeah, it went really swell with my BROWN BOOTS. My look was less polished professional chic and more butch homeless foreigner.

I had a really wonderful time- catching up, drinking. She told me about what we are referring to as the Crazy-Ass-Baptist-Wedding. (Apparently I’m not honoring Husband as the “spiritual head of household”… not that I’d know how to.) I regaled her with Girlfriend tales and how we came to the conclusion that vibrators are not items that should be hand-me-downs.

And through all this lovely happy wine-infused time together, she looked hip and fabulous as always. It’s so comforting to find some things never change.

But it’s a good thing she’s my friend. Otherwise, I’d have to beat her down with her perfect bag. Bitch. (Love you! hee hee!)