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?
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!