Category Archives: Princess Peanut

Young Lady!

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I say that to my daughter. A lot. I’m not sure where it comes from, or why…but I find myself spewing things like “Now young lady, we don’t do that!” and “Young ladies do NOT hit.”

I could puke.

But then I see stories like this one out of Independence, MO and I about puke again:

“Dozens of girls fought — possibly about a boy — outside a mall on Wednesday, and the brawl ended with mall security officers using pepper spray and police using Taser guns, authorities said.

It happened outside an Applebees at Independence Center and involved about 20 to 30 teenage girls, police said.A mall security officer was injured trying to break up the fight. Police took four females into custody. Two of them were juveniles.”

Now before you go jumping on me about equality or any of that crap…let me explain where I’m going with this…

I expect more from a group of young women. It’s not fair. It’s not right. It’s certainly not PC, but as women actually gain things like the right to fight in combat and blah blah blah…I still expect they don’t act like …well…men.

We’re smarter. We’re better. Except, of course, for my son, who is just as smart and just as good…but the rest of you with a penis are inferior.

I’d like to think we women folk are more evolved. Maybe that’s why I’m harder on my daughter sometimes. I don’t mean to be, I just expect more from her. I expect more from women in general.

Which means I’d rather they not act like frat boys and brawl outside an Applebees.

I also don’t want them sitting around in skirts knitting their man a sweater.

I think I need to go re-enroll in some women’s lit courses or some post-feminism discussion groups. Clearly I have some issues here.

Dear 8lb 6oz Baby Jesus,

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A few years ago my brother-in-law and sister-in-law gave us a nativity scene for Christmas. It was made in Poland (I’m Polish) and it’s very nice. I store it right next to the Bible we also got as a gift. Because anyone who knows this royal family knows we would just love nativity scenes and bibles as gifts….cough cough.
The past few years at Christmas I’ve actually unpacked the stuffed nativity (they are like stuffed dolls) because the kids have found them fun to play with, and we’ve had family over who may or may not notice we may or may not be displaying said nativity that was thoughtfully picked out.

Princess Peanut likes the donkey, the lamb, and of course the Baby Jesus. She hasn’t ever played with Joseph or Mary or the angel. Don’t ask me where the wise men are…apparently they were not present at this particular birth or the Polish nuns who sewed them got tired.

Lately we’ve been playing with the donkey, the lamb, and a puppy dog . They talk. They go on little trips to other rooms together. They pretend to eat fake food. All well and good.

Enter Baby Jesus.

Suddenly the donkey and lamb have been labeled “bad sisters go away!” and the puppy and Jesus have formed a bond. The Baby Jesus gets to walk the puppy (using one of my headbands) and Jesus tells the dog “you’re such a good puppy” and so on and so forth.

Somewhere along the lines puppy stayed in the other room and only Baby Jesus (with or without his manger, depending on her mood) has been clutched in her tiny hands. Baby Jesus had breakfast with us this morning. Baby Jesus came to the mall. Baby Jesus is the new Elmo that must be carried at all times.

Of course Baby Jesus also needs to eat, and since Mom is catching up on a million things around here what with the recent illnesses and all, a cup or two of milk might remain on the table longer than need be.

Enter Princess Peanut feeding Baby Jesus milk while Mom wasn’t paying attention.

I heard something about “here you go baby” but wasn’t really listening.

About 20 minutes later I found Baby Jesus floating face down in a bowl of milk on my kitchen table.

“Honey, let’s not feed the baby your milk, ok?”

“But Mama...she was hungry.”

Cue brother-

“That’s a BOY, not a girl!”

“No it’s not! It’s a girl!”

“No, it’s a boy!”

So now I’ve got a Baby Jesus floating face down in milk and two kids having the argument I like to reserve to really piss off some right-wing fanatics.

I fished Baby Jesus out of the milk, and at the kids’ request he was towel dried and bundled much like they are after a bath.

My youngest then put him in his manger, hooked my headband back around the neck of her puppy dog, and proceeded on a walk around the house.

“Do you feel better after your bath my little girl? I’m so glad…here puppy, let’s have some peanut butter…”

We’re so going to hell.

CastleGate 2007

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*not to be confused with the Turkey Riot of 2004 or the Teacup Riots of 2005

@#$%&*@#$%#%$@

I’ll swear more, for real, in a few paragraphs, but first let’s travel back several weeks to this family’s brush with the Southern California wildfires.

We evacuated. We hung out with Nana and Gramps. We came home.

Somewhere in between hanging out and coming home, we made our way through Orlando International Airport.

Orlando International Airport has TWO Disney Stores. Not one, but TWO. One in Terminal A and one in Terminal B. I’ll give OIA two. I mean, Mickey lives in that there city…I’ll give them TWO.

Anyway, on our way back to Los Angeles (which was no longer ON FIRE) I hastily stopped in Terminal A’s Disney store to buy a few small things to occupy my children on the very long flight home. A nice Princess set. Maybe some Mickey coloring books. A few Goofy cookies. You get the idea.

Princess Peanut Punk as Fuck entered said Disney store and IMMEDIATELY flipped out over this:

Mind you, in real life, this box is rather large. About as BIG as she is. There is no way I’m getting this on the plane and certainly no way I’m forking out $80 for plane ride distractions. Cue Princess Peanut meltdown. Of EPIC proportions.

I try and explain this won’t fit on the plane. I try and explain she’s NOT getting this toy. Maybe Santa can bring it? Maybe Christmas is coming and this can be on her “list?”

There is no getting through to her. At all. She’s on the floor screaming and we have to get through security like NOW.

Always thinking, I ask a nice saleswoman if they have a smaller castle. Maybe a picture of one. Maybe some little trinket. She calmly (which was pretty good considering the screaming child on my leg) says there is another Disney store in Terminal B, and they have a castle bank.

A bank. That might work.

So with both kids, and two carry ons, we run to Terminal B. Go ahead and stop and imagine what that looks like. No no, don’t stop to see the fishies…come on…we have to go…no, hold my hand….I see the big Mickey, yes…but we need to get down this hallway…

We make it to Terminal B’s store and low and behold Princess Peanut thinks the castle bank is SHIT and won’t even look at it. Now I’m thinking it’s time to get ugly. It’s time to just grab a random coloring book and the screaming toddler and the 4.5year old and the two carry-ons and run back to Terminal A and through security and onto our soon-t0-be departing plane.

Instead my daughter, aka Sybil, decides she really likes this Little Mermaid backpack/doll set and happily skips to the check out. Happily skips to Terminal A. Happily skips through security and onto the plane.

Let’s catch up to present day, shall we? Our little peanut watches her Disney movies until we can ALL recite each line. And as many of you know, they all begin with a very nice animation of Cinderella’s castle. And each time, our little girl proclaims ” MY castle! MY castle!”

Yes, HER castle. Not Cinderella’s. Hers.

If asked about HER castle, she’ll tell you Santa is bringing it. It’s #2 on her Santa list (right after a HORSE) and she just knows it will come. Just knows.

Now Princess Peanut’s Nana, being the NANA she is (that’s capital N-A-N-A) says she will find said castle and get it for our darling. Turns out houseboy (my brother) and his girlfriend have a connection at Disneyland who can get said castle at a discount.

Said connection checks out the situation in Anaheim. Guess what? They only sell SLEEPING BEAUTY’S castle there. And they are ONLY selling these castles at the PARKS THEMSELVES (or ebay) and it’s Cinderella’s in Orlando and Sleeping Beauty in Anaheim.

Motherfuckingsonofabitchbastards.

Now, I really can’t ask my Mom to pay $115 on ebay for a play castle. I’m still hoping we don’t have to pay admission to the park in ORLANDO (um, hi, mom, can you drive to Disney World for me?) but we’ll see. Of course I’m calling the airport store in the morning to figure out how the fuck THEY got them and if they can SHIP one.

Bottom line here…Santa is trying to deliver. Maybe Santa should just go ahead with some doll or coloring book and not get caught up in making sure we get the Castle. Maybe the castle isn’t meant to be. Maybe the castle is a lesson for Princess to learn.

Or maybe I need to get on the phone and online.

What say you? Castle? Or No castle?

Message To YouTube

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On behalf of the League of Maternal Justice breastfeeding montage “banned” by YouTube, I give you my Message to the Asshats at YouTube. Apparently they prefer this over letters to the editor, so here goes…

and I’ll have you know I did this quick video despite this from the other day:

and THIS today: (look familiar?)

Yup, different kid, same couch. This one came with bonus hives!

Thankful I am NOT a Jets Fan this Thanksgiving

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I really don’t think it’s too much to ask that if I take my daughter to a football game, we walk to get a pretzel and some nachos without being harassed by a drunken mob. Call me crazy, but I’d love to actually sit near Gate D at a New York Jets game and not be groped or screamed at or if, heaven forbid I’m feeling prudish that day, have to duck spit and flying bottles from hundreds of angry men.

Of course my daughter and I could just sit somewhere else. We could go get Mommy a beer and kiddo a hot dog near some other, non infamous gate, and avoid the whole thing- and then I remember this is 2007 and women do have the right to walk in public.

I suppose if I were to take my daughter and I on over that way, I would have been asking for it, right?

And people wonder why I still yell and scream and write about women and gender equality.

Many sports fans (my entire house included…yes, the girls too) are discussing the New York Times article by David Picker describing what happens at Jets home games on pedestrian ramps near Gate D.

Huffington Post contributor Leora Tanenbaum says, “I hate to sound like a broken record, but the sexual double standard is alive and well. Boys will be boys, and girls will be sluts. And across the land, people continue to believe that this is the way it’s supposed to be.” Tanenbaum drew attention and questioned the behavior while commentors asked for proof.

Let’s watch some YouTube, shall we???

As the NYT reports, this whole Gate D party is a tradition at Jets homegames. Meaning, Joe Jetsfan brings Joe Jr. Jetsfan, they share a beer, and join the mob out in the concourse to see how many women they can get to lift their shirts. Tradition. Happy Thanksgiving.

Some women comply. Some women walk away clothed and get heckled. Some women are spit on. Some women have bottles thrown at them. Some women are groped. More importantly…

hundreds of men think this is ok.

I attend sporting events. I am used to the one or two drunken idiots who scream four letter words and spill their beer. Security usually hovers near them and if they get out of hand they are escorted out. There is an entire mob getting out of hand at Jets games, and it’s tradition.


It’s Free Speech! We’re just having fun! Don’t come near Gate D if you don’t like it!

Let me speak in words you Gate D Jets fans understand, “Fuck you.”

Free speech is not harassment. Fun isn’t intimidating. And I’ll go anywhere I damn please, despite the fact I’m a woman. In fact, how about I come with a few thousand of your mothers, grandmothers, daughters, sisters, aunts, and girlfriends? We’ll exercise our free speech to teach you all about mob mentality, harassment, sexual abuse, intimidation, and gender equality issues.

I called Jets’ media relations to float my idea of taking Gate D back for the women. The nice PR phone-answering person took a message and I told them I was working on a deadline. “Yes, the HUFFINGTON POST, no, no…not Hubbington, HuFFington…and yes, BlogHER dot com. H-E-R, yes, BlogHER, yes, a network of over 13-thousand WOMEN…yes, I’d like to talk about the NY Times article, yes, the one about Gate D…yes, Blog H-E-R…”

…I’m still waiting for a call back. In the meantime, I’m going to really mess up Thanksgiving tradition and NOT spend it in the kitchen.

The Detroit Lions kick-off in an hour and my daughter and I have a game to watch.