inappropriateness

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Doomsday Hangover

May 25, 2011 in Uncategorized | 1 comment

So Doomsday didn’t actually happen. But it may as well have, what with Oprah going off the air and G graduating from pre-K. I mean, can you believe it? It seems like yesterday when she (Oprah) became a member of our family. And then we added Little G, and she insists on growing up. (What is up with these people moving on with their lives without considering the emotional burden on those surrounding them? Completely selfish, if you ask me.)

G insisted I dress up for graduation, so I brought my best. I even wore what my friend calls “valet shoes”, meaning you can only walk short distances in them. I was practically crippled halfway through the ceremony and resorted to sitting in one of those itty bitty Little Tykes chairs. Yes, this required my knees to rise higher than my ass. And yes, theoretically, my panties were most likely showing. Again.

Don’t you – no, don’t you dare! I feel you starting to judge me, and that’s not going to happen. Rather, I’m not going to feel your judgment. If you’d been wearing these evil 5-inch monstrosities, you would have sat (sitten?) your ass down, too. So you can go on and pass your judgment to Mr. Tommy Hilfiger, creator of H valet shoes. What an S.O.B! (except for the fact that he’s friends with Oprah, which surely makes us family. Auto-forgiveness. HOLLA!!)

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Face of an Angel

October 4, 2010 in Uncategorized | 2 comments

There is a myth going around that Little G is an angel. Her teachers and my friends – even our relatives – think she is the sweetest, most cooperative and helpful child who has ever walked the earth. What they don’t know is she comes from a long line of manipulative women, and this is what we do best. Only those who know us intimately recognize the flawed person who lives beneath the facade.
In G’s case, she only sheds her perfect self around her mother. She is careful not to have any witnesses, although she is only 4 and occasionally has lapses of judgment. But mostly, people don’t understand why I want to rename her “Damien”. Or at the very least “Mariah”.
Last week I bought her some new dresses and attempted to present them to her. “Look at this one – it has polar bears on it. You love polar bea…”
“SILENCE!” she shouts at me. “NO!”
“But it’s Lilly Pulitzer and it’s so cute and I can’t return…”
“SILENCE I SAID!” she screams at me again.
Defeated, I hang my head low and bring out the next dress. It is a denim jumper that I suddenly feel ashamed of championing to her. What was I thinking – it doesn’t even have sparkles, for God’s sake! Feeling completely inadequate, I kind of shove it toward her.
“NO!” she says, in a tone that more likely communicates “NYET!” with a heavy accent.
How did my child become like this? Why is she only evil to her mother?
I have taken your advice, but you are so damn fickle. What is it – 1)pick your battles, or 2)don’t cave, or she’ll lose respect for you??
I am torn between being an overbearing parent and that parent who lets her kid get away with murder and annoys everyone in the county in the process.
I am comforted by the knowledge that she wants to be with me over anyone else. But I wonder if that is just so she can release her inner meanness. Then I remember that’s why I like to keep Husband M around. That and those purdy eyes, of course.

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I Am A Mature Woman

September 10, 2010 in Uncategorized | 2 comments

Let’s face it. Hindsight is a bitch. And old pictures just re-enforce the bitchiness. Like, why in the pictures of my 20′s do I look much cuter than I did when my 20′s were actually happening?? Didn’t I know my smile and eyes and waistline would never look the same again? Apparently not. But, oh right, I was drunk. In my defense, so were all of my friends, but never you mind. Because what I want to celebrate today is not my cute youth, but my confident present. (It just proves that God must be a man as we cannot experience both at the same time.)

Anyway, back to present tense. Or a little past, as it were. Whatever. But last weekend, I was on my way to Birmingham when some cute young girl blasted past me in her sports car, with my sorority letters and college sticker pasted on the back windshield. (Side note: I realize this may not be relevant at all schools, but it was at mine. Except for me – my parents sent me to college with my grandma’s old Buick Century, complete with a cloth bench seat. One would never put her letters on that. We have to have some modicum of self-respect, after all. (That’s why we always walked home from the fraternity houses before sun-up; do you think we wanted to look like sluts in front of the whole town???))

So how do you think I liked that child acting as if I were irrelevant? Not very much, as it turns out. So I cranked the wagon up, baby seat and all in the back, to let her know that I was her, and she will be me. At least she hopes. (Maybe.) Cruising up beside her, I bounced to my hippest music – The Commodores – and tried to give her a look that was similar to Kathy Bates’ in “Fried Green Tomatoes” – like , “Face it, I’m older; I drive a wagon; I don’t care who Justin Bieber is.”

I guess I taught that little bitch (who is probably a straight A student who goes to church every Sunday) quite a lesson in life. Hmmmph. Hooray for adult women!

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WTF Woody Allen

May 19, 2010 in Uncategorized | 1 comment

I try not to make broad assumptions; I really do. But I’m going to go out on a limb today and say that, as a general rule, I don’t like child molesters. They could be the nicest people on the planet (it can’t be easy to charm the pants off unsuspecting kids), but I can’t get past the whole ruining-someone’s-life thing.

That’s why Woody Allen’s recent comments about Roman Polanski kinda rub me the wrong way. According to CNN:

Allen said Polanski “was embarrassed by the whole thing,” “has suffered” and “has paid his dues.” He said Polanski is “an artist and is a nice person” who “did something wrong and he paid for it.”

Oh, he’s embarrassed. Well, why didn’t you say so??? We all know you don’t have to serve time for your crimes if you’re a little red-faced about the whole situation. Also, he’s suffered. Having to live in Europe (where Polanski was born and lived most of his life) with his millions has got to be rough. And here I was thinking his victim(s?) was suffering from being drugged and violated by a creepy older man.
Presumably, if you are an artist and a nice person, you can do whatever the hell you want.

Oh wait. Is this the same Woody Allen who married Soon-Yi, whom he raised as his own child until he decided to take nakey pictures of her and split with her mother?

I believe this is the Pot & Kettle defense. It’s like if Scott Peterson came out and defended O.J. Simpson. “Hey, O.J. is a cool guy and a fantastic athlete. Even though he got away with murder, he was pretty upset by the whole matter. I mean, he lost one of his favorite gloves! Besides, sometimes bitches just need to be killed, ya know? Let’s all leave him alone. He’s suffered enough.”

Yes, I know there is no proof that Woody fooled around with Soon-Yi when she was underage. But can we all agree that the daddy/daughter thing is a little weird? Would you let this guy baby-sit your kids? That’s why I have to ask, “What the fuck, Woody Allen?” Seriously, Woody, please don’t talk about this ever again because you are really irritating me. (And y’all know how much I dislike being irritated – I may have to go shopping after writing this just to settle down a little. Or maybe eat a gallon of chocolate ice cream. Or both.)

P.S. I know a bit about child sexual abuse. If you are interested in learning about the cost to society or the prevention of child molestation, please visit http://darkness2light.org.

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Housewife in Augusta

April 11, 2010 in Uncategorized | 1 comment


In an effort to be a fair and balanced reporter, I will tell you that Tiger was very gracious and polite. Normally not one to acknowledge the crowd, he smiled at a woman and replied, “Thank you” when she said, “Welcome back, Tiger.” Much classier behavior than those who flew tacky airplane messages over the tournament, as if all the men there have clean backyards themselves.
Having said that, I give it 2 years before he’s out slutting it up again – although this is one of those situations where I hope I’m wrong.

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