It sucks 

McCain Sucks

Republicans Suck

Palin would suck, but something tells me that she just DOES NOT do that!

And let me tell you…it genuinely pains me to be so anti-McCain.  Anyone who knew me back in 1999-2000 can tell you what a die-hard McCain-iac I was.  He was a maverick.  A guy who told the likes of Falwell, Robertson and Buchanan to “Suck it!”.

And then he realized that he couldn’t win without throwing away every value he ever had.  Everything that made him a “maverick”.  Everything that made him a good and decent human being.  Everything that made me want to vote for him

And so that Giant Sucking Sound that you’ve been hearing for the last 4 years?  Has nothing to do with NAFTA.  It’s the sound of McCain sucking the dicks of right-wingers….the people who earned their well-deserved Seat At The Table in 1994, but never learned any table manners and who have been shitting in the punchbowl ever since.

And in Sarah Palin, they finally achieved orgasm. 

ok – enough with the over-use of the word “suck”

Sarah Palin – a woman who clearly doesn’t have her own house in order, but wants to walk the halls of the most famous house in the world.

A woman who wants to charge rape victims for their own rape kits.

A woman who has proclaimed her pleasure at her daughter’s “Choice” to carry her pregnancy to term, but wants to ensure that that is the only “Choice” the rest of American women/girls have.

A woman whose qualifications for VP include being able to “see Russia from her shores” and serving a few years as Mayor of MethVille.

A woman who isn’t able to give a speech without sneering.  She’s Ann Coulter with brown hair and glasses.

A woman who has no business leaving her small disabled child at home while she goes off in pursuit of the second most powerful job in the world.  Yes- she has every right to do so and no, I’m not saying that moms shouldn’t work.  I’m saying that THIS mom shouldn’t work….at least not now.  There comes a point where people say “Sure – it sounds great and I am flattered to be asked…but I’ve got too much on my plate right now.  It’s not the right time”.  Instead she said “Family?  What Family?  My husband can take care of everything, including all therapies for our newborn and planning Bristol’s shotgun wedding!”. 

Am I judging her choices?  You bet your ass I am.…she’s perfectly willing to judge my choices and sneer at them.  Tit for tat and all that….

And so…even though I have been a registered Republican since 1987…

Even though I have a vagina and according to the McCain Camp I should be tripping over myself in order to vote for other VaginaEndowedAmericans…

I will be proudly pulling the lever for Obama in November.

What remains to be seen is if I am pulling the lever in favor of Obama or against McCain

And the fact that I have not yet figured out which it is?

It sucks.

You know what the best part about my little “blogging break” was?  I apparantly missed this quarter’s MajorScandal about the events at BlogHer between Dooce and The Bloggess and all of the resulting rants on other blogs.  I still hadn’t heard anything about it until Fussy mentioned “drama” on Twitter this morning and since I am avoiding folding laundry don’t want to wash the kitchen floor will scream if I have to play another game of Skipbo with Prince #1 & 2 was curious, I found out what happened.  I don’t even know if that was what Fussy was talking about…but now I heard about what happened.

And guess what?  This post is not about what happened at BlogHer.  I didn’t go, I have no real desire to go (aside from the fact that I could have met Mr. Lady there) and I don’t even read Dooce or The Bloggess.

This post IS about the stupid, silly, bullshit stuff that goes on in the blogging world….and that you don’t see men doing it, do you?

Ladies (all 3 of you who still read this blog), why do we DO these things?  Why are some women still so caught up in the high school bullshit of making ourselves feel better by tearing others down?  The things I read were appalling, and I only read about 10 blog posts. 

And it’s not just the Dooce/Bloggess dust-up at Blogher…recent history had one Blogger leaving his family to run away with another blogger and then dumped that blogger to go back to his family and the resulting posts were like a Civil War Re-enactment…only in this case it was “sister against sister” and I wanted to shoot my computer just so it would all go away and we could get back to posts about baby shit and not getting laid.

People say that blogging creates a “community”.  Perhaps my expectations of that community are just too high, but I would hope that we could all remember that a community, online or not, is made up of people.  Those people have names and feelings, just as you do….and that includes Dooce/Heather and Bloggess/Jenny and whoever else is the subject of the next BigMajorOhMyGodDidYouHearWhatHappenedScandal. 

Just because they have 350 times the readers that you or I have (ok – they probably have 35,000 the readers I have) doesn’t make it ok to dissect everything they do.  They are Heather and Jenny – not Brittney and Paris.  They had what looks to be a 2-minute verbal spat (please – I don’t need the details)…..it’s not like one killed the other one’s dog or they made a sex tape or flashed their GoingCommandoCrotch at anyone.  They may be celebrities in the blogging world, but in the real world they are quite insignificant (and I really do mean that in a GOOD way).

So the next time you feel compelled to take to your keyboard to join the “can you believe that she did that”-fest, please remember one thing:  the person you are tearing down is a person.  She is not a computer screen, she is not a GoogleBot.  From what I have seen, even the more popular bloggers know when others are talking about them.

I try to live my life by NOT saying things that I know will hurt others.  Sometimes I fail…but most of those times it was completely unintentional. 

Some people really should try it.

Anyway - back to business…

I present the next installment in the Series That Never Fucking Ends “100 Things About Me”

10 Things About my Husband and Kids 

1. Brad has a degree in Mechanical Engineering from BigBasketballCatholicUniversity….and is a retail manager.  He got a job stocking shelves right after graduation to have an income while he looked for a “real job”.  The problem?  He decided that he really didn’t want to go in to Engineering.  Soon he was asked to enter the Management Training Program and has been in retail ever since.  He switched companies about 4 years ago to a much larger and more stable company and loves his current job.  People have asked me if it bothers me that he is “just” a retail manager.  Those people can kiss my ass.  My husband works his very-cute-butt off for his family and will do whatever he has to do in order to provide for his family while keeping me home with the kids.
2. So now that I’ve made Brad out to be this wonderful man/great provider/saint, let me tell you that it pisses me off that he seems incapable of pronouncing the letter “K” when it is in the middle or end of a word….he eats “brexfast” and “axes” me questions all the time.
3. I am also the envy of many of my neighbors because of him.  While other husbands come home from work and flop on the sofa or refuse to help with the kids, Brad comes in, gets changed and plays with the kids so that I can get stuff done.  He is completely whipped truly believes that I am working all day as well and always gives me a break as soon as he gets home.
4. Prince #1 has Autism.  I don’t talk about it often because he is high-functioning (thanks to a WHOLE lot of therapies that he gets 4 times per week).   In 4 years he has gone from a boy who used to throw such fits that I ended up with a bloody nose at least once a day and only communicated in sign language, to a fully-integrated-in-to-the-public-school-system little boy who just has some “quirks”.  Luckily we have a fabulous school system and they provide all of his services and solicit my input on every step of his education (which actually gets annoying after a while)
5. Prince #1 has an extremely high tolerance for pain and will never complain.  Because of this, I often won’t realize that he has an (all-to-frequent-but-not-frequent-enough-for-tubes) ear infection until the puss is running out of his ear.
6. Prince #1 is a genius.  I don’t say that in a “my child’s shit smells like a botanical garden” way.  I say that because he has been spelling and doing math problems since he was 1-year old.  When he was 4 years old and out playing with chalk, he was writing out and solving math problems in the street while other kids were drawing pictures of flowers.  He plays piano by ear (and not just “mary had a little lamb”…he has taught himself songs by Queen and Foreigner, just by hearing them on my iPod).  If he wasn’t so socially stunted, he would easily be able to skip two grades.  This isn’t me puffing up my kid, this is the 3-times-per-year discussion I have with his teachers and therapists (they actually recommended having him skip a year or two….I declined because of the social issues)
7. Prince #2 is both my “cuddle bunny” and my “drama queen”.  I haven’t yet decided if he is suffering from serious middle-child-syndrome, if he is just a master manipulator, or both.  One of his favorite things to do these days is to let me know, while I am yelling at Prince #1 for some infraction, that he certainly didn’t do that horrible thing!
8. Prince # 2 has absolutely no concept of time.  Ask him when he went to InfernoBoy’s house, for example (they’re now best friends) and he will tell you it was last Tuesday…even if it was that morning.  He loves to tell me “Mommy – I love you forever, and sometimes on Tuesdays!”
9. The Queen loves to clean.  Hand her a paper towel and she starts dusting everything in sight.  I’m thinking that this is really going to come in handy in a few years.
10. The Queen put to rest any residual doubts I may have had on that “nature vs. nurture” argument.  Sure, she wore a bunch of pink when she was a baby…but she also ran around in a grey “I’m the Big Brother” t-shirt.  And yet she has no interest in boy-stuff.  She’s all girl, complete with her own shoe fetish!

Shit – do I really have four more of these installments left? 

Something has to give, and I don’t know what it is…nor is there anything that I want to give up (aside from scrubbing toilets, but that isn’t really an option).

I don’t know what has happened recently.  My children are still wonderful and I love my husband….I just can’t figure out why any of them tolerate me any longer.  There just don’t seem to be enough hours in the day to get everything done and I find myself fantasizing about finding Martha Stewart and Mary Poppins and wringing their scrawny necks for setting the bar so high. 

Yes – it’s my own doing and I should just get over it.  But that isn’t going to happen.  It’s not in my personality.  I guess that is why Bree VanDeKamp is my favorite TV character….I understand her completely (aside from the part about the string of murderous lovers….at least I’m pretty sure about that part)

What’s strange is that the last two weeks have seen a decrease in my obligations.  My role as President of my mother’s club is all but over (nothing left but the end-of-year paperwork due by the 30th), pre-school is over so I have one less child to shuttle around, CCD is over, Prince #1 stopped having homework two weeks ago and the countdown to no longer having to deal with Satan’s Spawn is in single digits.

And I find myself praying for rain. 

Why?  Because when it rains the kids can stay inside and I can get shit done.  But with the weather being annoyingly beautiful the last few weeks (aside from the random one-day-monsoon), the kids want to be outside playing with their friends which means I need to be out there with them.

And how do I react to this incredible gift that I have been given of being allowed to stay at home and chalk in the driveway, swing on the swings and have water-gun fights with my children?  With resentment, a short temper and perpetual distraction.

I have 3 loads of laundry constantly sitting in my room that need to be folded with another 2 loads daily behind them that need to be done (especially now that they are playing outside and literally rolling in dirt). 

The thank-you notes still haven’t been sent from the Prince’s birthday party two weeks ago, the living room floor hasn’t been mopped in two weeks. 

I haven’t made a really nice (AKA “from scratch”) meal in over 3 weeks…it’s been frozen pizza, hot dogs, chicken nuggets or chicken on the grill with side dishes of chemicals straight from the box/mix. While this may be what the other four members of this house prefer eating, loading them up with high fructose corn syrup, salt, fat and powdered cheese is something I swore I would never do.

And let’s not even talk about the dining room…the “dumping ground” for everything that I need to get out of my way, but don’t want to take the time to run it upstairs, downstairs or out to the garage.

And as for sex?  There are Buddhist monks getting laid more often than me….and it certainly isn’t Brad’s fault or for lack of trying on his part.  It’s just that he often goes to bed with the kids (he has to be up and at work by 5:30am most days) and I usually need the time after the kids go to bed to straighten the kitchen or just have the first “me time” of the day.  The result?  I end up falling asleep on the sofa and not waking up until Brad is leaving for work.

I know what you are thinking (aside from “could this chick possibly whine a bit more?”).  You are thinking “Why doesn’t she give up the blog?  Why doesn’t she step away from the computer and fold that laundry or put away the dishes in the dishwasher?”

The answer is simple….I love you guys.  I really do.

Since I started this blog I have met so many people that I consider kindred spirits.  Not just from you people who read my ramblings, but especially from the wonderful blogs that I have found (click on links in the last sentence…I didn’t think this whole “link to other blogs” things out too well and I got shit to do as soon as I hit “publish”).  You people are just so fucking REAL, and there is such safety in the (not very) anonymous world of MommyBlogging (yes BusyDad – you’re a MommyBlog as far as I am concerned).  Sit at a playground with local woman and confess to not being a SuperMom and you get a bunch of looks that say “what’s wrong with you?”

Say the same thing on a blog (or read it on someone elses)  and you find yourself with more support and similar tales than anyone (including yourself) will admit to in real life.  I place a great deal of value on the informal support group that can be found in the MommyBlog world.

And I know that these feelings of inadequecy and frustration will pass.  They always do and I find myself back on track and happily scrubbing the tops of the door mouldings once again.

But for now, I will continue my wallowing….

Ladies – could we all please agree on one thing?

This

and this

 Look like shit!

Think that the PeTA ad is a little over-the-top?  Then obviously you weren’t at my local pool this weekend! 

Look – everyone hates getting waxed.  No woman has ever woke up in the morning brimming with excitement over getting the hair ripped out of her snatch.  And as for shaving?  We hate the constant upkeep, the ingrown hairs, the razor burn, etc….it just sucks!  Depilatories, while painless and longer-lasting than shaving, are also a pain the ass, especially if you do the whole Brazilian thing….you have to sit on the toilet with a mirror and a handful of cream, hold that position for 10 minutes and then “rodeo walk” over to the tub/shower to rinse off and HOPE that it all comes out the first time (don’t ask me how I know this)

Yes – it’s annoying.  Yes – it’s time-consuming.  Just shut up and fucking do it.  Either that or let it grow really long and do it up like Bo Derek in “10″.  If I have to see your pubes at the pool, at least pretty them up!

And about the thongs…..

I don’t get the attraction women have to thongs.  I see why men like them, but even women who aren’t looking to get laid in the next 5 minutes swear to me that they are wonderfully comfortable.  I personally don’t find walking around with a string up my ass enjoyable, but whatever floats your boat!

But if you are going to insist on wearing them with low-rise pants, either tuck in your shirt or make sure that you wear a low-rise thong.  There is nothing attractive or sexy about thongs poking out of pants.  You look like a whore. 

And if you are fat, you look like a whore that is kidding herself. 

If you have a tramp stamp, low-rise jeans and a peek-a-boo thong?  Then you look like a $2 whore. 

Oh – and if you are over the age of 30?  All of the above goes triple for you!

I know – I’m old-fashioned, a fuddy-duddy, a slave to the patriarchy that dictates what women should do/shave.  That’s fine by me.

But the next time I see some 40-year old woman at the grocery store with her thong peeking out of her jeans, I think I’m going to reach out and give her the mother of all wedgies.

I’ve already given Brad the password to this blog so that he can notify you of my funeral arrangements

I’ve been putting this one off because…well – it’s about my fat ass body.  Once I get through this, I should be able to burn through the remaining, and JoeTaxPayer gave me some good ideas for the final twenty.  Why didn’t I just skip over this one and do another? 

If you can ask that question, then you must not have been reading very long….there is a list and this topic was next!  I must go in order (I believe that’s actually a law).  Oh – and rearranging the list would have been cheating!

Aren’t I just becoming the master of the long-winded introduction?

10 Things About My Body:

1.  My height:  there ain’t much of it!  I stand at 5’2″, allowing me tower over my own children, but very few other people.    This is only really a problem when I go to parties and inevitably some drunk asshole (or my nephew) decides to use my head as an armrest.  Oh yeah – or when I want to do about 50% of the stuff in my kitchen.  Having 10′ ceilings with kitchen cabinets that go almost all the way up isn’t as glamorous as it sounds!  I have become quite the connoisseur of step-stools!

2.  My hair:  Many a fool woman has complimented me on my hair.  It is really thick with just the right amount of curl that makes it look great…9 months of the year.  In the summer (or when it rains), it tends to poof out and look like Monica from the episode of Friends when they went to the Barbados.  It used to be really blond.  It still is though, just not naturally!

3.  My toes:  are long enough to wrap around and perch with.  Yeah – thanks a whole lot Dad! 

4.  My eyes:  are blue.  Those I can thank my father for as well.  They are probably my best feature…at least that is what everyone has always told me

5.  My ass:  is fat.  ’nuff said

6.  My chin:  I have two of them (thanks Mom!).  It’s actually ok unless I smile, then my face looks about twice as big as it is (especially when you combine it with what my husband calls my “chipmunk cheeks”) .  Every woman on my mother’s side of the family has the same thing…even my really-skinny-former-beauty-pageant-winning cousin!

7.  My boobs:  are flat deflated not at all perky small.  After bearing and nursing 3 children, they are now on a first-name-basis with the Victoria’s Secret Angels Collection (although those stupid twits never want to believe me when I say I need a C-cup).  My older sister got all the boobs in the family.  Matter of fact - she has enough boobs for 4 families.  I believe that she owes me something for clearly stealing all the boob-genes from my mother before I was born!

8.  My stomach:  is….soft.  And droopy from 3 c-sections.  And yet it is still kinda flat.  I have been told my many people that I could firm it up with just a few million sit-ups, but that sounds like an awful lot of work!  I’m too old for midriff-baring clothes anyway.

9.  My skin:  is remarkably clear and has been all my life.  Aside from a few random pimples when I was pregnant, I’ve never had a problem with acne.  I have quite a few moles all over my body, but the worst have been removed by my friendly neighborhood plastic surgeon.  And despite being an idiot smoking for the last 20+ years, it is still soft supple and firm.  I don’t even have that many stretch marks.

10.  My weight:  is 20 pounds too high.  But I’m finally fine with that.  Sure, I would like to lose weight and have a tight ass and skinny thighs.  That effort remains ongoing.  But as long as I don’t gain any more and until Brad tells me that I am too fat to fuck, I refuse to stress myself out over it (and if Brad were to say that, he would find himself becoming more intimately acquainted with Righty and Lefty anyway!)

Ahhh – it’s finally over!  Now I can move on to more fun lists!

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Who here remembers our lively discussion that basically boiled down to “You stick WHAT up your snatch?  Are you kidding me?”. 

Well, it seems that post drew a little bit of attention and I was left trying to figure out why my stats have doubled the last few days.  It’s because of this post on another blog.  See that highlighted “this one” in the 5th paragraph (well, sixth if you count a single sentence as a paragraph)?  That’s a link to little ol’ me…the eco-terrorist, who is….oh – what was that quote in the comments of my original post….”as squeamish as a bunch of 3rd grade boys upon finding out where babies come from”

And who are these people?  They are LUNAPADS.  What is a Lunapad?  It’s a reuseable sanitary napkin…the Peas to the Carrot that is DivaCup.

And I’m still unimpressed.

(although I AM impressed that these two women managed to create what seems to be a growing and hopefully profitable eco-friendly company.  As for the product itself?  Not so much)

As if the idea of sticking a plastic shot glass up my coochie wasn’t bad enough, now there are reuseable sanitary napkins.  Just when I thought it couldn’t get more gross (ok – that’s good for at LEAST a “2nd grade boy crack”, isn’t it?)

So let’s get the environmental issue out of the way.  Seeing as I am no environmental scholar, I’m going to concede that issue to them (although I question what the difference is between washing the blood down the drain from a Lunapad/DivaCup and the blood from pads and tampons finding it’s way in to the same rivers/streams/oceans that our treated waste is dumped in to…but I could be wrong on that.)

Women are certainly free to deal with Aunt Flo any way that they please.  I guess my whole issue with these products is the cult-like devotion that people have to them and the just plain wierd comments/testimonials that I have read about them.

Example, from the Lunapads website:

Menstruation is a literal symbol of our power as women to be able to create life, and as such should not be treated as garbage. By not throwing away all those pads and tampons, you are honoring this fact. Being more present with your menses by washing your pads can bring about a wonderful sense of self-acceptance that can extend to other aspects of your physicality. Using Lunapads enables you to be self-sufficient and to incorporate a ritual of self-care into your monthly cycle.

Where do I start?  Well first, urination and defecation is a literal symbol of our power as humans to cleanse itself as well – yet another miracle.  But I DO treat it as garbage..  And if my self-esteem is wrapped up in my ability to look at and wash the blood out of my underwear every 28 days, then I have bigger problems than “cloth or plastic?”! 

Besides, after the birth of #3, my tubes were partially removed and I assume are sitting in a little red bag in a medical landfill.  I am no longer able to create life (thank goodness, since I kind of like having enough money to afford food).  What does MY period now represent? 

And how is the using of LunaPads more of “a ritual of self-care” than me taking responsibility by purchasing pads/tampons, using them when necessary, and flushing them down the toilet/wrapping them in paper?  Both involve the same ritual if you swap “shopping” for “rinsing” (and if you ask any sane woman, they will tell you that shopping is way more fun than rinsing blood out of underwear).  What makes the Lunapads user “more aware”?

Hint to the Lunapads people:  if you want to convert more people, stick to the environmental impact and stop trying to sound like Helen Reddy

Another example:

Being able to ignore the feminine hygiene aisle gave me back time and peace of mind I never realized I was missing

Exactly how much time was she spending in that aisle and why?  Here’s a time-management hint:  send your husband to buy the tampons.  My husband can get in & out of that section in under 2.13 seconds!

And yet another:

“As I rinse my Lunapads, I think, I am releasing all the old energy from the past month and making way for the new. I like being more aware and in touch with my cycle and with what is actually happening in my body.”

Does that energy include Thetans?  Seriously – this is something I would expect Tom Cruise to say (if he were a woman, since I can’t think of any female Scientologists right now and I am too lazy to Google it and everyone knows that Tom Cruise is nuts).

Hey – whenever I poop I think of it as getting rid of the old food and making way for the new.  Should I start wearing Depends and pigging out as much as possible?

Hint #2 to the Lunapad people:  testimonials are great to have on a website.  Try to not use the ones from people who sound like they are waiting for the next arrival of the Hale-Bopp

Last one, I promise:

I cannot tell you how much of a relief it is to not be ashamed of leaving disposables at friends houses, buying products at a store, or feeling ashamed of the noises changing a disposable makes.

Now who sounds like a 3rd grader?  You are a woman of child-bearing age.  Of course you get your period.  Get over it already and grow the fuck up!

Does it sound like I am trying to single-handedly take down their business?  Nothing could be farther from the truth.  Like I said – I applaud these ladies for their ingenuity and wish them the best of luck in what is obviously a successful and growing business.

Just please stop trying to convince me that my vagina is going to save the world or that using their products makes me somehow “more of a woman”.  It’s insulting.

Anyway, according to my husband, the answer is a rounding “YES!!”.  Sometimes he can’t understand why I can’t just Go Along To Get Along.

Examples:

• The Wawa Chick:  she has been pretty tame lately (it seems that her new rule is that as long as my children are in their karate uniform, they can eat their donuts before we pay).  The last few times we went in, she has even been downright sweet….which just pisses me off since Brad was there and now can’t understand why I complain about this Sweet Little Mentally Disabled Woman Who Is Just Trying To Earn A Living™.  To which I say (while jumping up & down) “But you don’t understaaaaaaand!”
• C-U-Next-Tuesday Woman:  Remember this story?  Well, it seems that she has recently decided that I am “good enough” to be her BFF again.  Sorry – the last time I tried that you broke my son’s heart and made me want to drive an icepick through your eye.  I’m not getting sucked in again.  GoodFriendMommy can’t understand why I am not calling her and inviting her over for playdates again.  BestFriendMommy is ready to go help me egg her house.  Of course, that offer was made at about midnight after many beers had been consumed.  Then again, I just spent the last few weeks driving her around because her car caught on fire and her husband didn’t “feel like” going in to fill out the paperwork on her new car until this morning…she owes me one!

 Then there are the random incidents of me being generally annoyed…

• ….like the clerk at Wendy’s who rung me up for $10.32.  I handed her a $20 and while I was digging for the change she entered the $20.  When I told her that I wanted to give her the $.32 I was told that she couldn’t take the $.32 and just give me a $10 because then her register would be off!
• …or the 10-year-old that I watch after school that I have nicknamed “Satan’s Spawn”.
• …or the employee at AC Moore who tried to tell me that the 7-strand beading wire was just as good and sturdy as the 49-strand when they were out of 49-strand (for you non-jewelry makers, 7-strand sucks doggy dick)

Truth be told, there is really only one group with which I have no problems.  That’s my Weight Watchers group (oh yeah – and if anyone is wondering – I’m down 3.4 pounds from last week).  I even attend three different meetings, depending on which morning Brad is home that week, and there is not one person in those meetings that I consider annoying, stupid or even bird-shot-worthy.  Believe me – I’ve tried.  There have been mornings where I sit in that meeting thinking “What the fuck am I going to blog about today”? and just wish that someone would do something stupid and give me some fodder! (all together now:  “Mindi is a looooooooser!”).  

I’ve thought about this and I think that the reason I actually LIKE (shudder) everyone in the 3 meetings is that we are all in that room because we have admitted that we aren’t perfect.  It’s hard to pretend to be flawless to a room full of people when you just admitted to them that you ate a whole Sara Lee Poundcake the night before. 

So am I just a bitch who tries to find fault with everyone?  Or is it that I just have a very low tolerance for complete idiots and I just happen to run in to more of them than most people?  Or is it that I just don’t like “false” people and our society puts too much pressure on people, especially women, to be perfect? 

Or is it that I have had that filter between my brain and my mouth/removed and need to just shut up and be nice to everyone, even if that means putting up with morons, bitches and shitheads?

Remember when you were young?  Remember when you were in high school and would look at your teachers, doctors and the parents of your friends and think “Man – I hope I’m never that old!”.  They drove sensible cars, talked about taxes and lawnmowers, listened to Motown and dressed like they were on their way to a funeral (at least that is what I thought, since they clearly had no interest in the wonderful 80s fashions!).  Sure, they got together and had crab-picking parties, game nights or just an evening out….but obviously it was because their life was devoid of all meaning from being so old and they were just trying to fool themselves. 

And how old were these walking corpses of which I speak?  Most of them were between 30 & 40 years old.  I went through many years feeling sorry for those poor saps who were too old to know how to have fun.

And then something happened….I started to get older.  The years started to tick by and we got closer to 1999, which in my mind was the year of “oh my Lord, I’ll be THIRTY.  I may as well have my burial plot picked out by then!”.  That year had always been in the back of my mind as the year my life would be over, ever since my friends and I danced to the song in high school over and over and over.  I turned 30, and then 31 and then I just kept getting older….but I didn’t FEEL older.  I still felt like I was 21.  Perhaps I felt too old to still do inverted keg stands (I could hit the count of 27, by the way…just another of my many talents), but I wasn’t ready for the old folks home.  I started to understand how all those “old folks” could still pretend that they were having fun…because they WERE having fun.

 Sadly, I have met one too many moms who think that growing up and being responsible automatically equal acting old.  Sure – we do have problems that we didn’t have when we were 16 (like taxes and lawnmowers and the safety features of a Honda Odyssey vs. Ford Windstar),but should we allow that to define us?  Our society has become way too child-centered; much more than it was when we were children.  This hyper-focus on our children has caused too many parents to lose the balance between their lives and their children’s lives and descend in to “frumpy thinking”.

So what do I consider “frumpy thinking”?

1. Not having the ability to get together with other couples without talking about diapers, vomit and which 2nd grade teacher will be the perfect fit for your child next year
2. Unless one is pregnant or nursing or has a child that is likely to wake up in the middle of the night, an unwillingness to have more than one white wine spritzer because “I’m a mom now and that would be irresponsible” (although one could argue that anyone who drinks a spritzer needs to be shot anyway)
3. refusal to wear anything that shows even the teeniest bit of cleavage because “Moms don’t do that” (of course, I am not advocating dressing like J Lo, I’m talking about the “just a peek” cleavage.  It won’t kill you and unless you live in my neighborhood, won’t get you branded as a shameless tart.)
4. thinking “why do I need makeup/nice underwear/clothes that were made within the past 10 years?  I’m just hanging around the house wiping dust and shit anyway!”
5. Letting all of your socializing take place at Home & School Meetings/events or at your Home Owners Association meetings

Of course, there is a difference between “thinking young” and being that pathetic 40-year-old man with the brand new convertible that is really just a penis extension.  Or the 40-year old mom still buying her clothes in the Juniors department.  Even if you have a body that won’t quit, no 40-year old woman should be wearing a tube top and hot pants (unless she is working her corner or it is Halloween)

Age is just a state of mind.  Sure – the body may not work as well as it used to and you may suffer from CRS (Can’t Remember Shit…I’m convinced that the placenta is directly tied to the brain and every time they removed placenta from my body, they took a portion of my brain with it), but that is no reason to walk around like you are just marking time until you can start the deathbed confessions.

So what are a few things that you can do RIGHT NOW to clear your mind of the frump?

1. NeverEverEVER take fashion advice from the WalMart/Target circular.  Sears should be a last resort as well.  When I think of fashion, I try not to take my cues from a store that also sells hammers.
2. Find a hobby that isn’t related to your children.  Scrapbooking, while fun, is still a frumpy-mom-thing.  You need something to balance out the scrapbooking.  Something that is just for you.  Perhaps an art class where they use live male nudes?
3. Make friends with the childless couples in your neighborhood.  Invite them over for dinner/drinks after your children are in bed or zombied out in front of the Wii.  Talk politics/religion/anything but children. Remember that there is a whole world out there that doesn’t involve Diaper Genies
4. Don’t be afraid to embarrass your children.  You’ve earned that right and it is one of the main joys of parenting!  If that means you want to crank up Come on Eileen on the radio and “driver dance”, assuming you aren’t in heavy traffic, of course, then go ahead and do it.  (That song is why I was late to Prince #1′s IEP meeting yesterday!)  I know now that my mother was not dancing to The Temptations to annoy me, but because she still enjoyed the music of her youth and wasn’t quite ready for Englebert Humperdinck (or Air Supply and Kenny G for our generation)

We may not be able to keep our bodies young.  We may start to develop creaks and squeaks in our joints.  But with a few changes, we can avoid the creaks and squeaks in our mind.