McEvil teams up with McEvil-er

August 9, 2006 by 28 Comments

How far in the tank do General Motor’s profits have to dip in order to market their gas guzzlers to my 3-year-old?

My adorable son came home from a “date” with his Nana last night, revved up from having seen Disney/Pixar’s Cars for the third time. In his wee little hand he was clutching the remains of his Happy Meal box. Dinner and a movie, everyone all together now “aaaaaw, a date with his Nana.”

Now maybe I’ve just lived in California too long. Maybe this ex-Detroit girl is disappointed in her hometown automakers for failing to step it up on the environmental end. Or maybe I just have PMS…but when I was presented with a mini toy-HUMMER, smelling of cheeseburger and fries, I cursed a blue streak that included “MOTHERFUCKER BIG OIL INFILTRATING MY HOUSE” and “YOU CAN’T EVEN GET YOUR KID A HAPPY MEAL ANYMORE WITHOUT THOSE DAMN BABY SEAL KILLER, ASTHMA GIVERS GETTING IN ON THE PROFITS.”

It wasn’t pretty. And I’ll admit, a little over the top. But since when am I subtle?

Stick a pirates treasure chest in there to promote Daddy’s new movie. Sure. I get that. Kid’s movie, kid’s toy. It works.

But Hummer teaming up with McDonalds makes me ill. I feel guilty enough as it is when I let my kids eat that crap every so often. But this match made in hell does not make sense. Unless it was just some corporate, behind closed doors, wink wink, nudge nudge, handshake deal that had white, fat cats laughing their asses off.

Count Waffles the Terrible will not be purchasing a Hummer anytime soon. Neither will his Prius owning parents. And for the record, my grandfather worked for Chrysler for 40 plus years. We own a Chrysler minivan. It has 8-thousand miles on it and it’s 2 years old. Suck on that Exxon. And we bought a Town and Country that was exclusively manufactured in Detroit and Windsor.

I know it’s not really fair to single out one car…but the Hummer really is a symbol of what is horrible about America. Consumerism at any cost and I shall rape the air, water, and land in the process. All so I can compensate for my small dick.

And now, like the tobacco companies before them, marketing execs over at GM think they are pulling a fast one on my kids.

Mistake.

I actually thought McDonalds was getting better. Promoting a healthier menu, etc. But this latest marketing scheme, in a time of high gas prices, war in oil rich lands, and a quickly eroding environment, makes this McMerger, Mc-bad PR.

No more happy meals. No GM products. And I’m spreading the word. Join me, won’t you?

…now I’m off to try and explain “carbon footprints” to my little guy.

For those interested, you can read the McDonald’s press release HERE. Feel free to let them know how you feel. I am.

Filed Under: Count Waffles, Royal Rant

‘Cause they are liars

August 8, 2006 by 18 Comments

2 dips in the pool.

1 shower.

1 washcloth wipe-down.

1 wet wipe scrub.

Johnson and Johnson Babywash. Dove soap. Shampoo. Mom’s uber-expensive face wash.

“Washable” markers. Crayola fuckers. Liars. Liars. Liars.

Filed Under: Princess Peanut, Royal Pain

Joey baby…you are on minute 14

August 6, 2006 by 29 Comments

I was never one of the “good� girls. I liked sex. I liked fun. I liked men. I liked women. And I liked to party.

And then I found the one man I could hump for the rest of my life and bore his children.

I still like sex. I still like fun. I still like men. I still like women. And I still like to party.

But let me make something clear; from my promiscuous years to my marital fidelity, I have always been in control of my body. And I have always respected myself, my mind, and the line between whore and sexually adventurous woman.

Which is why I’d like to put Joe Francis, the owner of the “Girls Gone Wild� empire on notice.

Joey, sweetie, honey, baby: Hi there. I’m the Queen of Fucking Spain. And I’m a mother. And you had better believe your 15 minutes of fame are very close to being up.

Now, wait a second there. No. I’m not some nutjob fundamentalist. Or right winger. Or conservative crazy. Or even slightly religious. In fact, I’m as Cali liberal as they come.

You see, sugar tits, there is a new breed of “MILF� out there, raising a new breed of young woman. We’re hot. We’re confident, and we sure as shit are not giving away our selves for a fucking hat and thong. No, sweeties. No.

Sure, you weren’t around back in the day when I was flashing truckers on my way to spring break for a cheap thrill and giggles. But you see, had that trucker offered to film me, I would have walked away in disgust. There is a line, and you’ve crossed it with those young, stupid, stupid girls you film.

Do they want to be on camera? Yes. They sure do. Are they consenting? Sure seems like it. Are they dumb as rocks? Yeah, I think so. But I don’t really blame those girls. Ok. I blame them a little. But really I blame the society and culture they were raised in and around. The one that worships Paris and pokes fun at Hillary. The one that promises them riches and fame if they show their ass and carry a small dog in a purse. The one that has them puking their brains out to get into those size 0’s. How can I blame the young, young girls that know nothing else? And are told by men like you that they are smokin’ and your dick in their cunts could be their lucky break?

Alas, foolish Joey. This new breed of Mom, the one with hot pink and leopard print dishwashing gloves…she’s on to you. She’s going to work like hell to raise a substantial, strong, and sexy daughter who will crush you.

There is an Army of us raising sexy strong smart daughters who will take you apart, bit by bit, video by video, thong by thong, until your empire crumbles.

For the record. I like porn. I like raunch. I just like it smart. And you, Mr. Francis, are doing anything but smart by taking advantage of this current generation of women. Call yourself a businessman, an entrepreneur, whatever. But what you really are is a frat boy who hit the big time by using and abusing women.

I hope you put money away for your retirement, because it’s coming sooner than you think.

Oh, and Claire Hoffman of the LA Times…you rock my Mommyblog world.

Filed Under: Royal Hooters, Royal Vagina

…and when she rules the world, they will call her a bitch

August 5, 2006 by 10 Comments

 

So proud of her penguin hatFor her they say,

“My, you certainly have your hands full with this one.”

“She’s very talkative, isn’t she?”

“What a little troublemaker!”

“She’s so loud!”

“I bet this one causes you heartache when she’s 16!”

Pure joy and funFor him they say,

“What an active little guy! He’ll be an athlete!”

“He is upset, he must be tired.”

“He’s so vocal, and communicates so well!”

“It’s great he asserts himself in a crowd of kids.”

I really didn’t think this sort of gender bias started this young. But, here it is.

Hrrrmmmph

Filed Under: Princess Peanut, Royal Family Outing

When your past is your future, and your future is your past

August 4, 2006 by 17 Comments

It’s easy to be overcome by the cocobutter sunscreen fumes and sticky humidity. The crunchy chlorine hair and always wet bathingsuit. But it is hard to explain the overwhelming hug and emotional tug of family when you see your daughter mirrored 51 years earlier.

Nana or Hala?

I can pretty much assure you they both make me crazier and happier than any daughter or mother on earth.

 

Baby girl looking at baby nana

Filed Under: Feeling YaYa, Princess Peanut, Queen Mum

The Politics of Breeding

August 3, 2006 by 36 Comments

I had the balls to breed. Ok, I had the ovaries and he had the balls, but you know what I’m saying here. And apparently, that makes me less of a woman.

Stop and laugh about that for a second.

I made the choice to have children. And I’ve noticed lately, some beyootchs (Delta Flight 1781, seat 32B, some women at BlogHer who shall remain linkless, and that one woman I won’t even name because I’m sooooo over it and that little so-called “war�) aren’t too happy that I’ve procreated. I think. Or they aren’t too happy I left the workforce. Or they aren’t too happy I bring those children out in public and on a plane. Or maybe they are not too happy I actually write about my experiences as a mother. I’m not sure. I’m still fuzzy on why they are so cranky.

Maybe it’s not just the procreation that gets them. It’s the fact that I own my breeder status. I own it, I flaunt it, and dammit…I’ve got something to say. Sure I’m also a wife, a daughter, a writer, a reporter, a wannabe chef, a poet, a gardener, a sex goddess, and a sports nut. But my main focus, at this moment, is mother. I reserve the right to change that at any given time. But during this phase of my womanly life, I’m all mom.

My clothing says I nurse proudly. My blog says I cosleep proudly. My minivan just screams “Mooommmmmmmmy� as it motors through suburbia to preschool. You might as well stick me in khaki capri’s and a white t-shirt, label me “generic suburban mom, version 2.0,� and send me off to the PTA meeting.

That is who I was to the bitch who sat in front of my children and I as we travel across the country today. The one who moaned and groaned and when my daughter let out one of maybe two brief cries said “Oh Jesus, kids. Here we go!� She gave us dirty looks, she even gasped and sighed as my son giggled loudly. But her really nasty glares were directed at me. She looked at me like I was a poor excuse for a woman. She looked at me like it was my fault Hillary wasn’t President yet. She looked at me like I let her down.

I wanted to scream “…BUT I USED TO BE A REPORTER! I AM NOT JUST A…�

Why do I feel a need to make sure she knows I’m more than a Mom? Why do I look at these women and feel the urge to give them my resume? Will it somehow subside my Caucasian, stay-at-home, privileged guilt?

 

Kelly and I noted that the BlogHer Mommyblogging session was filled with Version 2.0. Our ankle tattoos varied here and there, but the majority of us were white, stay-at-home, Mommybloggers, bitching about how we felt belittled by the term “Mommyblogger.�

Gag.

I used that session to try and get everyone to look ahead. To take this media darling role we’ve been given and shape it.

Maybe we’re still getting all the hate because we’re doing a whole lot of talking and complaining (me included) and not enough action.

Politicians do a lot of socializing. They gab and handshake and hug and talk about the kind of world they envision for their children.

Sounds a lot like Mommybloggers. Maybe that’s why they hate us so much.

So far, my kids have learned colors, letters, numbers and the usual from me. They have also learned that Mommy likes her lattes and her computer. She likes her computer friends so much that we get to go on vacation to see them all. I can’t think of many single moms who can do that. I can’t think of many lower income moms who can do that.

My kids need to learn more. They need to learn that Mommy can raise her kids and make a difference. She can work to see that next years Mommyblogging session isn’t so white. So suburban. She can use her role in today’s hottest new trend to get some laptops for some under priviledged Moms. Maybe internet service. Maybe a trip to BlogHer ’07. And who knows what else. But I’ve got the 24-hour hamster wheel going in my head since I returned from San Jose.

Instead of telling all the haters to stop reading us. Or to recognize what a hard job we have, and how important it is that we raise the next generation. I plan on earning their respect. I plan on working my ass off so the next time I get on a plane with my kids, the woman in front of us smiles at me with respect. Gratitude, even.

 

We can’t change our soccer mom image over night. Hell, most of us don’t even come close to fitting that image. And if nothing else, we can show our children what it really means to be a community.

I’ve got the balls. Do you?

Filed Under: BlogHer, blogher06, Count Waffles, Feeling YaYa, Stepford Crazies

…because it was so good, it deserves two posts

August 1, 2006 by 24 Comments

Let’s be honest here, ok. Just between friends.

If you are thinking of coming to BlogHer ’07 in Chicago, leave the kids at home.

Trust me. I speak from experience. Hotel-stair running, nursing during session, taking care of snotty nosed fever-boy, trying to get buzzed but not drunk, checking my cell for urgent babysitting in the room call, can’t really concentrate on all the beautiful people there experience.

I had to bring the kiddos to BlogHer ’06. Peanut needs the boob and there is no way around it. I wasn’t going to wean just to go alone. I wasn’t going to force a cup or bottle when clearly, it isn’t wanted. So here we are. Babe on hip, eyes rolling.

Nose picking at BlogHer

And then there are my partners in crime. Sarah and the Kaiser did much drinking.

He has a special place in his heart

Let’s not forget Mocha Momma. Oh that Mocha. She helped me…um…well, …think Caddyshack, Baby Ruths, and some poorly left-out WW candy. That’s all I’m saying. And yes. She licked. She licked EVERYONE.

Mocha strikes again

Here we have the Pastie Queen Her Bad Mother humping Jennster

Catherine and Jennster

And we can’t forget IzzyMom, Christina, and Sarah (again)-

Mommybloggers session

The glorious and buff Fizzle caught some slightly blurry but beautiful shots of the Princess and I.

She just seems to OWN the shirt

It was like meeting people you have known all your life, yet never hugged. Yes, those hugs felt that good. I kept touching all the wonderful women and men I’ve grown to know and adore, making sure they were real. Really standing next to me. Laughing with me. Laughing at me.

I love my children. But next year I will be completely selfish and leave them behind. I didn’t get enough time with these people I already miss. That I need more hugs from. More humps from. More licks from. And even more dirty looks from.

Filed Under: BlogHer, BlogHer.org, blogher06, Feeling YaYa, Royal Family Outing

The Queen has left San Jose

July 31, 2006 by 27 Comments

There is a stretch of Interstate 5 between Los Angeles and San Jose that will be scarred forever as a result of the Queen of Spain’s trek to Blogher ’06.It started with multiple stops, one on a dirt road in front of a tractor dealership, in a desperate and very tense attempt to stop the siren wails of one darling daughter. It ended with the Queen, topless, contorting herself in front of a car seat, jamming a tit into a baby’s mouth while the Kaiser drove 80 miles an hour.

And all of this was well before I drunkenly bitched at Dooce.

Make no mistake. Blogher 2006 was the year of the Mommyblog.

The Mom Army* had numbers this year and that really, really pissed off some women. All the panels talked to us. All the sponsors and corporate reps were courting us. The daycare was busy and the breastfeeding room quiet and thoughtful.

And while I stumbled to figure out “why all the hate?� I realized it’s all cyclical. Just because we were the media darlings this year, doesn’t mean women political bloggers or community assistance bloggers won’t hog the limelight next year.

You may not have liked that we were getting attention for posts on diapers and our ovaries, but keep in mind you don’t get anymore woman than mother. They go hand in hand. So make room for us and quit your bitching. You’ll get your turn. And if you don’t, just ride our coattails.

Speaking of bitching. Yes. It’s true. I marched up to Heather Armstrong and wanted to know why there seemed to be a disconnect between the first wave of mommybloggers and the second wave. I was not eloquent. I was not without slur. And being the Queen that I am, I went on and on and made no sense, all while spilling my free zinfandel on the shoes of those with mouth agape around me.

I think I redeemed myself, or at least clarified myself, at the following day’s Mommyblogger session.

Intentional or unintentional, we have formed a very close, strong community through mommyblogging. And I now rely on that community.

Everyday I share my virtual cup of sugar with my mom neighbors. Every day I feel less alone. Everyday I laugh my ass off at our silliness and joke about blow jobs and antidepressants and yes, pasties (Her Bad Mother, I’m looking at you)
As we gain in popularity, I really don’t want to lose that. I really feel that’s what makes us…well, us.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a fucking clue what to do about it. For those of you looking to expand (myself included) do you have a plan?

And before I get too serious, yes…there was debauchery and drunkenness and even a criminal element (blame Mocha, I had NOTHING to do with it). But I’ll save that for later. I gotta leave you hangin’. Because, you see…I missed most of EVERYTHING because Count Waffles and Nana got sick on Saturday.

Self fulfilling prophecy, I guess. The Kaiser partied downstairs while I wiped snot and administered children’s Tylenol. 24-hour Mom.

Part two, later. Including my hand holding with Arianna Huffington and my new girl crushes on Lisa Stone, Mir, and Grace Davis.

*IzzyMom is the clever one who made up Mom Army. I’m so not that clever.

Filed Under: BlogHer, BlogHer.org, blogher06, BlogMe, Count Waffles, Kaiser, Princess Peanut, Royal Family Outing, Royally Inebriated, Stepford Crazies
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