Tips for Back to School Shopping, What’s hip for 2011-2012 and where to get it on a budget.
I know, it’s still 10,000 degrees and the kids are way more exited about slip and slides than sliding scales, but it’s back to school time. Part of me wants to give a woof woof a la Arsenio Hall and the other part realizes, that simply referring to the dog pound makes me seem really old and shockingly uncool.
He was doin the "fist pump" long before the Situation
So let’s just go with a pound don’t forget to explode it… cuz that’s cool.
Now, the question is, How do I get the kids equipped, organized and on trend… on a budget and on the bus? Look, mine are at each other’s throats. Frankly, no school in the animal kingdom maybe the reason some eat their young. Well, except fish… they have school. But when was the last time you heard about fish eating their young? Hmm? I think I’ve made my point. Continue reading →
The other day I got my first letter from my son. It was signed thus: “Mom, I love you sooooo much. Let’s keep in touch.”
Really? Let’s keep in touch? Shall we, shall we do that? Hmmm?
I don’t know where he learned that particular sign-off or if someone told him to write KIT (Keep in touch) at the end of each letter and he decided to formalize it, but the “Let’s” is really the kicker, huh?
You see, “Keep in Touch” as a phrase is simple. It implies that the other person should write often. “Let’s keep in touch” implies that he’s decided to move out or that we’ve just run into each other at the mall after years apart and one of us needs to run off because a cute outfit in the just caught our eye.
Brunette says, Let's Keep in Touch. Blond says, Not if you buy that sweater vest!
Let’s Keep in Touch says:
“You know, it’s so easy to lose touch these days, let’s not let that happen to us.”
“Hearing from you was so nice, why don’t we make a real effort to keep each other up to date and not let too long of a span go by.”
“I’ve always enjoyed you, I don’t want to let our distance tear us apart, if we can help it.”
Well, gosh darn’it, I will keep in touch. I know, easier said than done, but I mean it. I know you will too, because the rent on your new apartment won’t come cheap and I don’t think they accept stars.
Every once in a while you have a conversation that is that is so stereotypically female, it makes you wonder if things have truly changed that much. It also feels like you’ve unwittingly set women back a half century.
I had one of these conversations last night at a baseball practice, and the sad part? It was so natural, I didn’t notice the irony until today.
It started with someone discussing her phobia of germy sponges.
Other Mother: You don’t have to be afraid of them, when they get dirty you can just nuke ’em?
Me: I run mine in the dishwasher.
Spongephobe Mom: I’d NEVER use a sponge.
Spongephobe Mom (to us moms, who sat with our mouths agape at the idea of not using a sponge): I don’t need a sponge. I just let my dishes soak in some hot water with JOY.The above sentence, which really occured is the very reason the rest of my tête-à-tête with the team moms will include 1950s translation.
Other Mother (visibly shaken): What do you use… a paper towel?
50s translation: Don’t tell me you use paper towels? They can rip and tear! Why, they’d never hold up to vigorous dish-washing.
Spongephobe Mom: Nope.
50s translation: I’m confident in the cleaning power of Joy.
Me to the Other Mother (accusingly — like an evangelist being told about evolution): I bet she’s scraping that crud off with your nails.
50s translation: That explains why her nails look so unkempt. (For that phrase to have the truest 50s effect, one would have to utter it in a loud whisper to other disapproving woman during a game of mahjong.)
Spongephobe Mom: Nope.
50s translation: Stop staring at my nails, gossip maven.
Me: But what if you sauté?
50s translation: How does it hold up to grease from deep frying?
Spongephobe Mom: No problem.
50s translation: It cuts right through the oily residue that frying can leave behind.
Me and Other Mother (in unison): NO?!!!
50s translation: Gasp?!!!
I nonchalantly inspected her hands for cracking and chaffing.
50s translation: “I bet your manicurist isn’t pleased with the way you do your dishes.” (Snicker snicker, then I would look to other girls for nods and implied high fives.)
Spongephobe Mom: I only soak the dishes, not my hands, dumbass. (okay, in the actual conversation the dumbass was merely implied.)
50s translation: Joy leaves my hands supple and soft, and it’s emollients condition as it cleans. Then she would look at my hands sitting in a bowl of what I thought was simply water and say, “You’re soaking in it.”
So that happened. I can’t take it back, in fact I wish I could just not have realized how trite the whole thing sounded a day after it happened. Let’s be honest, you’ve read my blog … I so rarely have cliche conversations, I’m due one every so often, no?
Those were the words said to me this morning by my closest friend.
Her next words: “You have to come see this. It’s horrifying.”
Me: I just want to make sure we’re clear.You’re asking me to come to your house so that we can watch ducks have sex? Can we not afford good porn?
Susan: You make me sound so cheap.
Me: Moving on, you want me to drive over to your house to watch something so horrifying you’ve termed it rape?
Susan: Yeah.
Me: Okay.
What? You people think my days are so full of work that I don’t have time to watch ducks schtup? Like they say, “there’s never a reason to miss ducks getting laid.” Wait, is that what they say?
I thought it would look something like this.
But it looked more like this.
Half hour later: HOLY CRAP! First, let me explain that she wasn’t kidding or even exaggerating. If you’ve ever seen Mallards or their cousins, the Muscovy ducks, mate – and frankly, who hasn’t – you’d know of what I speak. The drakes are like boys at a frat party gone wrong—very very wrong. I swear one of them quacked, “No means Yes.” Well, it was “Quack, Quack, Quack,” but he said it with the same intonation (He then shot-gunned a beer and smashed the can on his beak).
As I watched with disturbing fascination, these guys just pecked at the female, attacked each other, and took turns attacking the female until she relented. It’s like my husband any Saturday night he doesn’t eat himself into a food coma. (So, like, once every couple of months.)
I walked up to the female, let’s call her Daisy, and said, “Look, I can get video of the whole thing. This will definitely hold up in court, and we’re gonna see Donald behind bars in no time. We’re talking heavy, metal, cage bars. I’ll represent you if I have to. I don’t think a duck trial would be too complex. I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing like a kangaroo court.”
I took her lack of response to mean she didn’t trust my legal abilities. “Yeah, well, good luck getting a better lawyer. Most of them are busy with Lindsey Lohan. How about this – just let me call Florida Animal Control, and I’ll have him removed from the premises.”
This time, I took her lack of response to mean that I should give it a try. She was also pinned to the ground, so I thought a bit of creative interpretation was called for.
Operator: Animal Control. How can I help you?
Me: Yes, I’ve witnessed a heinous crime in the animal kingdom, and I need you to come and remove the offender.
Oper: Ma’am what are you talking about, do you have a gator?
Me: No. I have a rapist duck.
Oper: What kind of duck is it?
Me: Why does that matter? Do you discriminate against certain types of ducks?
Oper: Is this a serious call?
Me: Yes. It’s a Muscovy duck.
Oper: I’m sorry ma’am. We don’t deal with animals that aren’t indigenous to Florida, and Muscovy is actually a breed from Mexico.
Me: And you have a thing about Mexican Ducks? What, do you think they’re taking all the jobs from American ducks or something? How horrible, this poor duck crosses the boarder for a little clean agua, and next thing you know she’s flying with a fast crowd, a gang attacks her, and she has no recourse. It’s just like West Side Story, but with less dancing.
Oper: Ma’am, I’m hanging up now.
Me: Wait, is there a Mexican Animal Embassy I could call?
Oper: Lady, that’s how ducks do it.
I especially love the operator’s last line because she was so serious throughout the conversation – calling me ma’am and such – even though it was said in an accent straight out of Deliverance. But she ended with “do it,” not “mate” or even “have sex.” I wanted to be like, heh… heh-heh, you said, “do it,” but she hung up too fast.
So, I got directly into my car. I couldn’t even look Daisy in the eye, mainly because I promised to put her old man on Dragon Pearl’s menu, but also because she’s really ugly. Seriously, have you ever seen those Muscovy ducks? If there was a lesson to be learned from the “The Ugly Duckling,” it’s that people really do hate ugly ducks.
So, I got home and googled “DuckRape.” It didn’t say “Did you mean duct-tape?” No, it actually gave me pages of studies on duckrape and the forced copulation habits of ducks. But, this was my favorite find. This is what Isabella Rossellini is doing now: Yes, she actually says the line, “Ouch ouch, one of them is raping me… I don’t care.” THIS VIDEO WILL LEAVE YOUR JAW ON THE GROUND… SERIOUSLY.
Oh, that happened. You should know, you watched it. You sick perv, you. Gives new meaning to “Fuck a Duck” right?
Who would have thought you’d be learning so much about duck sex today? Probably not you. And yet here you are, looking at a video of Isabella Rossellini’s duck vagina.
So what’s the message here? Don’t move to Florida if you’re an animal who’s not a native species. Maybe try California – they’re pretty liberal. We’ve also learned that ducks frequently get raped, but there’s no such thing as consent in the animal kingdom… so technically it isn’t rape.
PS thank goodness for the “no consent” thing. If animals could withhold consent I’d feel pretty guilty about eating them.
Oh, and lastly, the beautiful Isabella Rossellina is now doing animal porn.
This week in Jenny’s Momtourage Column, Jenny from the Blog asks: Why do I find it so hard to say “no” to my children when they clearly have no problem saying it to me? She also gives 5 tips to help any parent stand their ground. Good Luck! READ MORE
This week, Lifestyle Expert, Jenny from the Blog’s NBC segment is on tips to declutter with kids. Because she is sooo awesome and in the know and loves her readers and viewers way more than she should… I, I mean she, is giving away these items from Powermat (A WINNER HAS ALREADY BEEN CHOSEN) Continue reading →
Mark Twain once said, “I have been through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.” This week, Jenny from the Blog asks, “How many incidents do we fear as mothers?” “How much stress do we expend fearing them” and “Why is it so easy to be a What-iffer?”
Excerpt “…But, my mind was quick to figure out the real danger. Nope, this was not a police issue and frankly those petty slap on the wrist repercussions didn’t concern me; this was an act of terrorists or at the very least the owners of the mall were going to blow up the parking lot in order to put up a Neiman Marcus.”
To read the full insanity of this piece and see if you know the feeling: CONTINUE READING
This is the first giveaway of the week for my readers and those who watch my Parent and Lifestyle segment on NBC 6, names will be picked on Thursday March 3rd.
I highlighted these adorable inserts as Great Gear Moms Need for Travel and Organization. I only feature items I truly love! (A WINNER HAS ALREADY BEEN CHOSEN) Continue reading →
In case you haven’t heard, Starbucks will now Super-Size your iced Venti 2 pump, 4 sugar, super skinny, double wide, whip it good, mocha-chaita-cino-o (or whatever you order) for 50 cents extra. Yep, the voluminous Venti has officially been dwarfed by the trendy Trenta. Why? Because everyone needs a coffee that’s larger than their stomach capacity– duh? Oh, I kid you not, the 31oz Trenta is actually 16ml more than the average stomach size. It can hold an entire bottle of wine – with room to spare. The Trenta is the Dirk Diggler of drinks, the Dolly Parton of pick me ups. Seriously America, why are we so obsessed with all things larger than life, and larger than necessary?
The sign at my Starbucks counter reads “Bigger is Better,” but is it? Is it ALWAYS better? A 24 oz Venti Caramel Macchiato is 300cal, 39g of sugar, and 150mg of caffeine. Therefore, a Trenta version could be as much as 5000 cal, 300g of sugar and 2 billion grams of caffeine or something like that…math isn’t my strong suit. Unless you’re a trucker who’s being held at gunpoint while hauling a shipment cross-country, I can’t imagine the need for such a beverage. Of course, you’d also have to be a trucker with an enormous stomach, as your belly would otherwise fill to capacity before you finished your drink. That last sentence was just silly, as truckers are rarely known for their svelte bodies. Oh gosh, now I’ve offended all truckers reading this article. But, I digress.
It seems as if nothing is ever enough for us Americans. So, what’s next? Men trying to enlarge their penises? No, wait, my inbox is already swollen with ads for that procedure. Will fast food joints make a burger so big, that they’ll need to give a defibrillator as the toy surprise? Nope, we’ve done that too. The Triple Whopper with Cheese has an eye-popping 1230 cal and 82 grams of fat! Somehow I think “Triple Bypass with Cheese” would be a more fitting moniker. Even J Lo’s derriere has been super-sized; you’ll find it on Kim Kardashian.
It’s pretty clear our desire for excess is boundless, so who can blame Starbucks for cashing in on this universal infatuation? I asked a patron with a Trenta why he bought his quart sized coffee. His response, “I’m thirsty.” Well, there you have it, thirsty people everywhere will be ordering this larger than life, yet miraculously still able to fit in a cup holder, beverage. Pretty soon we’ll simply order a troth of coffee, and of course, they’ll call it a Trothe`. That’s right – we’ll thumb our noses at obesity, diabetes, and high blood pressure. No matter, we’ll be too hopped up on caffeine to give a damn.
This weeks’ TOP 5 Segment. It’s not that moms are lazy, we’re just worn out… and rightfully so, we do it ALL! Here are the top 5 ways to put more spring in your step, more perk in your parenting, more wahoo in your work, and more hyperactivity in your homemaking! Okay the last one sucked, but you get the picture.
Maybe it makes me a bad parent, but a quick meal on the way to some after school activity or when we’re rushed is sometimes essential for my family. I don’t have the time or the patience to force feed veggies that make my kids gag at every meal. Nor do I have the skills to hide broccoli in brownies and cauliflower in cupcakes a la Missy Chase Lapine. While all the moms at a playdate are talking about processed cheese stuffs and how they would never go to McDonald’s, I’m worrying there is evidence of a recent visit in my car and hoping no one needs a ride. Continue reading →
Look, I’m a pop culture junkie, but Nicole Kidman confessing to injecting Botox is a headline? I mean, duh, her face hasn’t moved since “Days of Thunder.” You know the worst part about celebs copping to this inoculation and other work? They always say something like, “Yes, I admit, I did it in the past, but I don’t do it anymore.” It’s like listening to an athlete talk about steroids or Pres. Clinton describing a pending offense. Let’s not forget, he “didn’t inhale…” or “have sexual relations with that woman.” Well, Bill… you missed the best part on both counts (or did you?)
Alas, Courtney Cox and Teri Hatcher and a slew of other celebs, who like me celebrate their 29th birthday year after year, have been forced by public scrutiny to admit to past experimentation as if it was a crime. A crime punishable by Continue reading →
