Why, hello there, you brave soul.
Welcome to realm of The Mad Mom, where the trials and tribulations of parenting are refreshingly devoid of a misty douche commercial lens. There will be no tiptoeing through the fucking tulips. There will be no imagery of parents and children captured mid-guffaw, their locks intertwined in the exact same shade of spun gold.
You've turned a dark corner into a land where the boogeyman is real. There will be graphic depictions of real life. There will be foul language. There will be hangovers at drop off.
Because you haven't entirely lost your essence to those darling little beings you birth, name, dress, bathe and lug around. Somewhere, deep in the vestiges of your snot-wiping soul is the person you were before you had children, before you were forced to submerge your emotions, speak in superlatives and initial your curses to dodge the wrath of finger-pointing sanctiparents determined to pin a red flag to your chest, like Hester Fucking Prynne.
The raging, foul-mouthed attitudinal bitch that lives on within deserves to be addressed.
So pucker up, buttercup, and prepare to kiss your Wet One's toting ass goodbye. I hope you enjoy the ride.
Madonna Finds Mercy
She's a cutie.
Now that that's out of the way...
First she dates Jesus, now she's off to Malawi to adopt a three year old girl named Mercy because, as Angelina, her predecessor in child collecting so aptly demonstrated, you can't just have ONE adopted baby of a different shade into your family - a matching set is the trend du jour. What's next? She'll take in three feral Katrina cats named Faith, Hope and Charity, deny them television and insist they leave their clothing folded at the foot of their beds.
After all, she's such a control freak with the rest of her life, it's not hard to imagine her lining her kids up in size order at attention while she wraps out the day's agenda, sliding a riding crop across her Joan Crawford shoulder pads so they shudder in subliminal fright.
The Latest Rip Off: The Shoulder Pillow
Now babies are exempt from this equation, but what kind of idiot carries their kid around so much that they need a shoulder pillow? If your kid is of walking age, isn't the point to make life less comfortable up there? How long do crying jags over scraped knees last, anyway? If your kid suckers you into carrying them around enough that you feel compelled to provide them with a pillow, then save your $12.95 and spring for a Xanax and a reputable chiropractor.
Get Off Elmo!
Ricky Gervais and our furry red BFF, as you've never seen him before. It gets awesome about a minute in, when Kevin Clash starts to lose his shit.
If you happen to be in the NYC area, don't miss the bash celebrating my buddy Alison Lowenstein's latest book, City Weekends: Greatest Escapes and Weekend Getaways in and Around New York City at Book Court, 163 Court Street in Boerum Hill. It's this Thursday, April 2nd @ 7pm, there will be wine from Long Island's North Fork and a raffle to win a night for two at the Soho Grand. Let's face it: In this blasted economy, many of us won't quite be so fleet footed these days, and Alison's personally done the legwork in finding some cool stuff to do that's off the beaten path. So buy the fucking book!
That's it for now, kids. 'Til next time!
The Mad Mom