April 2011 Archives

Hear that? It's the collective exhale heaved by all NYC parents, announcing the conclusion of our epic 11 day "Spring break." 

Why do we wish other parents a "good break" anyway? The sentiment is sweet on the surface, but unless you're among those who can spend that week-plus luxuriating your yoga-toned ass in a resort chaise, casually flipping through the latest issue of OK while your offspring asserts themselves at some distant craft table well out of your earshot, there's no "break" involved whatsoever. 

Anywhoodle...

Things I've Decided I Really Don't Give A Flying Fuck About

Obama's Birth Certificate 

What an atypical Tea Party-induced plate-spin. To think of the good that could've been done with each second they spent clogging our pars triangulis' with this bullshit. I'll never get those synapses back, assholes.  Thanks for wasting so much of my fucking time. 

The Royal Wedding 

Sorry afficionados of pageantry and fluff, but this event appeals to me just about as much as watching sports. 

I'll give the native Brits a pass, because this kind of event has a tendency to spark patriotism, but the vested interest Americans are taking in these nuptials kind of confuses me.

Are you going to get to sport a four-digit dollar dress and lick the frosting off that $80,000 cake? Nah, me neither. So why do we care? Does our interest in this $34M affair infer we're an orphaned nation because we lack royalty? 

GULP...are we possessed with Queen-is envy?

Photo: DListed

This day would not be complete were I to deny you the intrinsic beauty that is...

The Stereotype Song

Duran-Squared Springs Eternal

For those of you who find STILL themselves utterly mesmerized by the boyish, chagrined charm of John Taylor - city miles and slightly receding hairline be damned - I bring you this hilarious parody of your life, courtesy of my pal Jen:

We middle-aged folks are all somewhat guilty of clinging doggedly to the bad old, good old days of rainbow toe socks and Moog synths, aren't we?

Finally, a hearty congrats to Alison Lowenstein for being quickest on the trigger finger and scoring herself some sweet Peter Thomas Roth Un-Wrinkle products!

Until next week....

xo

©2011 All Rights Reserved. Or Kiss. My. Ass.

Happy Pesach!

Fat Mens In Diapers

TWIN MEN HAVE A CONVERSATION -- official video from Michael Chiklis

Remember those twins everyone was goo-gooing like idiots over on You Tube last week? Michael Chiklis and Patton Oswalt took it upon themselves to fast forward those fatties a tad. Could you imagine the contents of those diapers?

Oregon Won't Give You Up

This hilarious mash-up almost makes me want to move to Oregon. Almost. Nothing like a government with a penchant for disposable 80s pop and a campy sense of humor. Thanks Dana!

Stupidity Of The Week: Fussing About Boys With Pink Toenails

If you haven't managed to tune into the brouhaha about The Boy With Pink Toenails, it's time to yank your head out of your ass. 

An ad just came out featuring J.Crew Creative Director Jenna Lyons and her cutie patootie son swooning over a bottle of neon pink nail polish: 

"Lucky for me I ended up with a boy whose favorite color is pink," says the caption. "Toenail painting is way more fun in neon."

Social conservatives reacted with outrage. Fox News' Dr. Keith Ablow ran an opinion piece on the issue and Erin Brown of the right-leaning Media Research Center called the ad "blatant propaganda celebrating transgendered children."

GOOD. I so happen to celebrate blatant propaganda celebrating transgendered children. 

I love how conservatives like Ablow think a bottle of pink nail polish makes a five year old boy want to tuck in his boy parts, slip into some slutty boa slides and sip a cocktail (both literally and figuratively) in the Interior Illusions lounge. What a stupid, ignorant prick. Should we do away with Halloween then?

R.I.P. All My Children & One Life To Live 

First Oprah leaves, now this. I haven't watched either of these shows in light years, but still can't believe ABC let the axe fall on these two classic soaps. I guess the insatiable need we women have to mind each other's beezwax by watching soaps and gossiping over the clothesline has finally been usurped by the iPad-ian, do anywhere convenience offered by The Real Housewives franchise and mommy blogs. It's a brand new day.

Propers

SO psyched that many of you are digging this new act of derring-do! As I'm a complete techno-idiot, I have to thank my brilliant designer Stephen Parker of UDCNY for pulling it off on the pronto. If any of you are feeling the need for an online makeover, reach out and tickle his fancy, would ya? 

Peter! Thomas! Roth! For! Free! Free! Free!

I know many of you are just like me -- you're so damn busy working and/or chasing shorties you're burnt to a crisp. And years of tail-chasing can wreak some serious havoc on the fach-ay. But scraping together the jingle to blow on quality products that work isn't always easy. 

Lucky FOR YOU, I have the hook-up. My peeps have enabled me to giveaway a superlous fabu-glama Peter Thomas Roth Un-Wrinkle Creme ($110) and Un-Wrinkle Eye ($100) set to the first reader who:

Leaves in the comment section below

Retweets this post with a #PeterThomasRoth hashtag at the end.

Smiles everyone! Smiles!

I've been promising y'all I'd cop a new look and feel and WHADDAYAKNOW - here it is! 

Why the change, you ask? Am I not mad enough to be The Mad Mom anymore? Hell-to-the-NIX. I'm full of enough piss and vinegar to torch your Prius with the flick of a Bic. 

The reason is quite simple. Don't you like to get your hairs did on occasion? 

Exactly.

Also, I found the whole "mom" in the title a little -- shall we say -- ill fitting. Sure, I'm a blogger and a parent, which means I'll always have something to spew about breeding and brethren. But when I shake hands with a business contact, I don't feel compelled to toss in my now-defunct uterus' accomplishments as a footnote. I'm a writer, son. That's what I do.

I originally designed The Mad Mom as a receptacle for all those lucid moments you enjoy after watching Bravo for six straight hours, or face planting onto a bar somewhere between  losing count of your martinis and losing your lunch. I hereby promise, hand to crack, that Soapbox Dirty is still that safe place.  I may be (a couple) of someone's mother, but I'm also a fey motherf*cker.

Speaking of motherf*ckers on Bravo...have you caught wind of the flatulent felines on Pregnant In Heels?

I have to give that Rosie Pope and her Kate Moss lisp some serious props because I'd find it tough to restrain myself from bag-whipping these idiots at hello.

Take these two, for example. They are due in four weeks and fully expect their infant to sleep on the crisp Frette sheets of their Queen-sized guest bed. Right before this scene, the mom-to-be said something directly to the effect of, "What? I'm supposed to bond with this little shit?"

Sorry, but this what happens when this particular species of designer gay and his head-of-business-development hag make the decision to procreate -- no poop near the Herman Miller please!  It didn't work for Will & Grace, and my guess is this poor little creature is going to make some childless Guatamalan nanny very happy. 

Cleveland Down On Women

And I don't mean in a fun way.

Can you believe Charlie Sheen actually sold out a show? I thought for sure there was no way the country's vaginas were just going to stand back and watch this dilapidated crack shack, who reeks of Brylcreem and spray paint, spout his nonsensical brand of sexism and made-up adjectives for two solid hours. 

Getty Images: Riccardo S. Savi

Lemme break it down: The man would rather get his Pig Pen swarmed cockle inhaled by Roxxy the Sex Robot all day then so much as say hello to his five children.

Remind me never to go to Cleveland.

Time To Eat!

This is what happens when the bile in an anorexics tummy starts to churn -- they begin to hallucinate cheeseburgers where heads are supposed to be. Alexandria may have been a bossy bitchy pants in the past, but she sure didn't deserve Brittani-with-an-i's attempt at intimidation.   

My favorite quote? "I'm fake because I'm nice."

That's it for now, Bitches! Adiamo!