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Pregos Say the Darndest things….

I have had a few youngsters around me lately that are pregnant for the first time.

They just are so innocent and cute with their hopeful and sweet love for their unborn child.

They are so clueless as to what is about to happen to their life so they say some hilarious shit.

Sometimes I correct them.

Sometimes I just don’t say anything and nod my head in agreement.

Sometimes I just have a little laugh at their expense.


And sometimes I just cannot believe how little they know…..

So I laugh maniacally:


But just remember Pregos!! While I might laugh at you and your Bugaboo strollers and your “Gender Reveal Parties” and your all-over dazed and confused stares – I ALWAYS warn you!!!!

Now here’s my Top 5 Hilarious things that Pregnant people say:

#1 – “I’m only crying because I am hormonal – I will be better once I have the baby.”


That’s not accurate at all.

Think about the tears that you have shed over the course of the nine and half months of pregnancy.

Multiply that number of tears by 500 and smoosh all of that water into about 6 months.

That’s what lies ahead – my pregnant little angels.

Your hormones are still crazy after you have the baby and you can add to that the smell of poop, bloody engorged boobs, a fat stomach that has no baby in it, shrill screaming in the middle of the night and a nightly average of 5 hours of sleep.

The crying will continue and it will be deep sobbing to the depths of your soul.  Be ready for it.

#2 – “I only hate my husband right now because I am pregnant and hormonal, I will love him again after I have the baby.”


The hatred will become much worse.

Before you got pregnant – you likely would look over at your husband in bed and see this:

david beckham

So you are probably unaccustomed to any bad feelings towards your significant other…

But be warned that as soon as you give birth – when you look over in bed at your husband you will now see the same exact human being – but instead of looking like David Beckham – all you will see is this:


You will quickly assume the role of the mother which will include but not be limited to: caring for the child’s eating and burping needs, caring for the child’s private parts with various ointments, wipes and gauze strips, caring for the child’s comfort and sleeping needs, swaddling and clothing the child, among other household duties and entertaining and being nice to visitors.

During all of this you will look over at your husband who at one point you may of thought of as your knight in shining armor and you will see a stupid, useless, vapid creature who you want to murder in the night.  You will consider different ways you can murder him.  You will be up at night breastfeeding and you will see him drooling into his pillow and you will want to smother him.

You won’t do it.

In time you will probably like him again.

But please know that the hatred is far from over.

#3 – “I am going to breastfeed so I can lose weight.”

I mean apparently this can in fact work for Gisele and other women who are good at starving themselves to death.  Your body burns like 5000 calories via breastfeeding so your hunger becomes worse than ever.  In addition, you need to be sure to eat and drink certain things to create superior breastmilk – so it’s quite difficult to have breastfeeding take the place of Weight Watchers.

Breastfeeding is impossible as it is.  Breastfeeding AND starving yourself???  Don’t set yourself up for failure.

#4 – “I need a wipe warmer because I don’t want my baby’s butt to get cold!”

I mean – there are those that have said that I am a horrible person and mother -so maybe that’s why I never felt this maternal instinct to protect my children’s buttocks from mysterious winds indoors.

When children are screaming and crying and covered with piss and diarhea and it’s 3 AM – I never really gave two flying shits about the windchill near their assholes.

The rest of their life they will be sitting down on cold toilet seats.

I think it best that they learn about the harsh realities of life right from the get-go.

When your ass is out of it’s diaper, cold winds blow by and might cause a chill on your anus.

Isn’t that what life’s all about?

#5 – I heard that breastfeeding hurts…is that true?”

Um… I think the word “hurt” is an insult to breastfeeders across the land.

I don’t know, imagine taking your boob and touching the sun with it….


Then imagine immediately going back to earth, lying down in the street and sticking your boob on the pavement and a yellow schoolbus, filled with tons of rotten children, drives over your boob…..

boob bus

and then imagine you sit up quickly and someone at that very moment shoots a gun and the bullet goes right through your nipple.


That’s basically what it feels like.

Then like 40 minutes later – you have to do that whole thing over again.

It doesn’t just hurt.  It’s a searing pain that goes into the innermost layers of your being and for like 20 seconds you think you might actually die.  But once the baby latches on – it’s totally fine!  You will totally love it!

The important thing is to stay positive!!!

One day you will look back at all of this and laugh!!!




Ten Ways Prison can be Amazing

Today MAMA KAT’S WRITING WORKSHOP is asking for a post inspired by the word “orange.”

I have been thinking about my post about jail because of poor Theresa Guidice’s recent sentencing of 15 months in jail.  While that might be scary for her – let’s not all forget how luxurious a minimum security prison can be….

This is a repost from last OCTOBER, enjoy!


My book club recently chose the book “Orange is the New Black” as our book pick. I was interested in reading this and watching the series based on a woman who is sent to a Danbury, Connecticut prison for a drug trafficking crime she committed during college, ten years after the fact.

A friend mentioned that she had watched the entire series on Netflix and was obsessed with it.

“Why? It’s that good?” I inquired.

“No, because I drive by the Danbury exit and fantasize what it would be like if I could live in the prison…” she answered in a hushed tone.

“Haha…” I chuckled.

She looked back at me with a straight face. “Do you think it’s bad that I have fantasies of going to prison?” she asked.

“Well, I haven’t seen the show….I don’t know….” I answered warily.

“Well – let me tell you…I don’t see the problem with going to prison at all….it seems downright enjoyable. They read entire books without anyone bothering them and they provide you with an outfit!” she exclaimed.

Hmm…she has a point…and upon reading the book, I completely understand what she’s fantasizing about…..


1 – UNDISTURBED LEISURELY READING: Well, the reading thing is huge for me.  Imagine if you could just lie in bed all day and read books and magazines without being disturbed?

Are you fucking kidding me? That’s supposed to be punishment?

I am sorry – but the last time I read more than one page of US Weekly without being bothered by some child or husband was 1994. Also, I have been reading this “Orange is the New Black” book for two weeks and have read only half because by the time I get around to reading, my eyelids won’t stay open.

2 – UNLIMITED EXERCISE TIME: Although I have the best of intentions, when I am not working and especially when I am working, it is extremely difficult to squeeze in even 45 minutes of exercise.  I am constantly scrambling around, running errands, cleaning, volunteering, buying 500 birthday presents, grocery shopping and cooking.  To be able to go to a daily yoga class AND take a daily hour-long stroll around the prison track would be downright luxurious.

3 -ALL MEALS ARE PROVIDED: I am sorry, perhaps I am misunderstanding the penal system, but explain to me what is so sad and hard about someone serving you 3 meals a day?  Granted the food is disgusting but guess who’s not cooking or cleaning the kitchen?? You.

4 –  NO PRIMPINGIn prison, (much like at home) you don’t want anyone to try to get with you romantically.  But in prison you can outwardly let yourself go (which you can’t really do in polite society.)

When you are in jail, you can essentially never do your hair or makeup again.  If I knew that I was surrounded by butchy lesbians that were murderers and drug addicts…you can be sure I would be flushing my flatiron and mascara down the toilet.

I would immediately assume a “natural look.”  I am sure Mr. Gaga would be upset when he saw me during visiting hours, but I think I wouldn’t really care anymore.

Thank you for visiting me ...I can't wait to come home.....

Thank you for visiting me …I can’t wait to come home and get a keratin treatment.

5 -AUTOMATIC WEIGHT LOSS WITHOUT TRYING: When all of the food in your life is inedible and you are afraid of everyone around you and stressed about your predicament of being a jailbird guess what happens?  You get skinny…..without trying.  Well I hate to say it but I’ll commit a felony tomorrow for that opportunity alone.

6- ALL COOKING IS DONE IN THE MICROWAVE:  If you ever get an urge to cook in prison you can steal random ingredients and cook them up in a microwave for a special prison-time fine dining special.  So basically the most work that you will ever do concerning a meal will be to press a button.  Upon cooking up such creation, the people who you share it with will “ooh” and “ahh” and be very appreciative.  Unlike the little bastards at home that complain and refuse to eat after you slaved for hours over a hot stove.

7 - THERE’S A UNIFORM: And they give you several…for free.  I literally would love nothing more than to wear a uniform for the rest of my life.

I essentially have created my own uniforms that consist of wife beaters, flip flops and uggs even though I am not incarcerated.  It would be nice to know that I am wearing a uniform because I have to due to strict prison guidelines and not just because I have lost all hope of being stylish and cool.

If I had a choice looking like these two for life:


or these two…..


I would choose those khaki numbers with the waffle shirts in a hot second.

8- Coffee-time: So apparently in prison, twice a day there is coffee time.  Prisoners are offered coffee and they can take their coffee and sit with their friends and enjoy their coffee and have “coffee-talk.”

What the fuck?

Do you know I literally take two sips of every coffee I ever make or purchase?  Do you know that I have half-drunk coffees strewn about my car because I am always racing around like a maniac?

Do you remember the last time you and a friend just sat face-to-face drinking lattes without children and without interruptions?

Well if you would ever enjoy doing that twice a day…you better start swallowing a balloon filled with drugs my law-abiding friends.

9 - YOU ENTERTAIN CHILDREN ONCE A WEEK: That’s right. When you are very bad and you commit heinous crimes “for punishment” you see your children once a week.   OH! THAT WOULD BE SO HORRIBLE!   I say as I run into the streets carjacking the first people I can find.

10 - YOU CAN DEVELOP HOBBIES:  I would be thrilled with the reading and the exercise but if you so desired you can take up knitting.  Apparently this is a popular prison hobby.

Although I do not fall in the category of you 50 Shades loving- bullet users…you can even knit yourself a bullet and spend countless hours…um….enjoying your “yarn bullet.”  (A popular prison toy.)


In closing – I think it’s safe to say we, the mothers of America, are the real prisoners of society.

I won’t be judging any of you if you choose to break a few laws at this time.  If we see each other robbing a bank or shoplifting at our local Macy’s, we can give a wink, knowing that we are that much closer to a coffee and a fresh jumpsuit.



Kids just wanna have Runs

I don’t know if it’s because I am late to join the running world or not, but it seems to me that everyone I know is training for some sort of half-marathon or at the very least a 5k.

People in the workout world often deem it necessary to “cross-train” which means adding to their Cross-Fit or their Hot Yoga or their Tennis with an ungodly amount of running.  They join marathons and triatholons and Polar Bear plunges.

I am admittedly not a “runner,” but I have come a long way.  When Michael was about to turn four years old – I signed him up for a running program where he could potentially run around a track once, maybe twice, and (in my naive little idiotic brain) GET TIRED.

He ran two miles without stopping the first day. …so that backfired.

But it actually made me realize that I should probably be able to run as much as a preschooler – and at the time – I couldn’t.

So now – five years later I am doing my 3 mile run, two or three times a week.

My major motivation for this?

I want to drink a vat a glass of wine daily and not feel too bad about it.  Possibly a cookie.  Possibly a chip.  Possibly something with a lot of cheese and carbs…I mean the list is endless of the foods and beverages that I would like to consume daily.

It’s a problem.

So that’s why I am doing it.

But WHY? May I ask …are these people running 26 miles?

This guy is clearly a huge douchebag - Ok yes - he has 8-pack abs and apparently ran 26 miles in a short time period - big fucking deal...Would he be fun at a party? I don't think so.

This guy is clearly a huge douchebag – Ok yes – he has 8-pack abs and apparently ran 26 miles in a short time period – big fucking deal…Would he be fun at a party? I don’t think so.

So – of course – it’s not enough to just run our own bodies.  We have to run our children’s bodies as well, in an effort to complete the circle of perfection.

With all of the “type-A” in my town – it only makes sense that there would be a town-wide 5 mile relay for children.  It’s perfectly reasonable that the children invited to participate would be ages 2!!!! to twelve! (insert emoticon laughing so hard it’s crying here.)

And so Michae,l being a “joiner” – joined and then me being a Type A mom that makes fun of other Type A moms – made him practice.

Well – I mean he can’t very well run over a mile quickly without a little practice!!

And after a couple of runs where I jogged next to him with a stopwatch- barking out commands and warnings that walking or slowing down would “let down his team” or ” make his team lose,” we were ready.


The day of the relay, Michael rolled out of bed at 7:00 am when I woke him and came downstairs to eat a breakfast of eggs and bacon and was ready and out the door on time for his 7:45 call time at the town hall.  When the relay started,  Michael did an amazing job – without stopping once to catch his breath or walk.

While other children in town were sleeping, eating pop-tarts, and playing video games my child was running over a mile.

His team came in as one of the top ten teams.

We were very excited at the finish line – and I immediately asked one of the volunteers where we could see the times and standings.

A woman offered us a banana and said “Oh no – the kids’ race doesn’t have a winner.”

I wanted to flip the banana-stand over and demand a recount but I also wanted to play it cool and pretend I was normal so I just casually said – “So, where can we just find the list of the times?”

She did a little fake smile that let me know that in her head she was thinking “Here’s another Goopville fucking lunatic mother.”

and said, “we don’t keep track of the children’s times.”

and handed us this:

They handed us a dog tag chain that said "Goopville Relay."  And what should we do with that?

They handed us a dog tag chain that said “Goopville Relay.” And what the fuck should we do with this? Can we lord this over others? Does this say you are one of the top ten runners in this town??? NO. NO IT DOESN”T.

We resolved to say “If we had fun – we won.”  ( A common theme amongst childhood sporting events in modern day America.) However – when children go above and beyond, when they chose to join a community activity and they excel ….should they not receive some recognition?  Even if it’s just their name and time on a board?   Something that shows that they were there and they completed this challenge?

Have we become so used to the “everybody gets a trophy” mentality – that even when you go above and beyond you cannot receive recognition?

Have we been so overly-sensitive for children who might not be that athletic, or not that much of a joiner ? Have we made their life journies  super-comfy and safe and easy – and in the mean-time forgotten about praise and accolades?

I don’t expect that my children will come in first place at the Science Fair, and I don’t expect that they will win first place in the local tennis tournament, or even the baseball championships.  Some other child, who has put in 10,000 hours or has a natural ability or is a genius, will earn those ribbons and medals.  And what’s wrong with that? They deserve accolades! FOR BEING THE BEST AT SOMETHING!

My son’s relay team came in 6th place.  They weren’t first, but they were in the top ten and they deserve to be given their time and whatever comes with beating out the other 90 percent of runners in their town.


We have to remember that many children in today’s society are slovenly, lazy creatures that only care about Minecraft and completing virtual levels and beating virtual games!

Any children that are in the out of doors competing with real live humans should be rewarded!!

Last week – I heard through the grapevine that a group of Type A Goopville moms created a “kids running club” in their neighborhood.  The head mom was in charge of gathering the children on their quiet street and guiding them to run certain routes and lengths.

When an elderly neighbor saw the group of children running wild in the streets – she was very taken aback.

She hadn’t likely seen active children moving their bodies in the sunshine for decades!!

So she did what any logical adult would do in the year 2014 if they saw a group of children outside being active.

She called 911.

GOOPVILLE RESIDENTS ALERT!! If you see something like this in your neighborhood - call the police right away!!!

GOOPVILLE RESIDENTS ALERT!! If you see something like this in your neighborhood – call the police right away!!!

The Goopville police had to actually come and address the “situation” of children running around in the street!

I mean between the mediocre response when you make a huge effort and the over-the-top response you get from a mediocre effort and the elderly citizens trying to get active children arrested, it’s no wonder that all of today’s kids don’t lock themselves in the basement with a lifetime supply of baked goods and play Grand Theft Auto all day and night.







Sleep and those little slices of death….

Awhile back I started noticing that Mr. Gaga and i had stopped bouncing out of bed in the morning.

We kind of sit up slowly, then swing our legs to get our feet touching the floor.  Then there’s the heaving the body up and out of the bed, and that’s when we notice the stiff neck, the tight back, sometimes stiff legs.

As a chronic hypocondriac I have been known to pepper Mr. Gaga with medical questions quite regularly.  Lately, I found myself pointing to something on my neck or back and asking if he thought it was normal for it to hurt on the daily.

“I think we need a new bed.” I finally said a few weeks ago.

“We aren’t that old, we shouldn’t be this rickety,” I explained.

Mr. Gaga is always terrified of change and has been sleeping on a pillow that resembles a pancake for years because he swears its the only pillow that doesn’t bother his neck.

“Our bed is fine.” he answered decisively.

“No – it’s ten years old and we are getting a new bed. We deserve a bed.” I reasoned.

Off we went and we picked out a luxurious bed that was recommended by friends.  It was extremely firm which would help our backs and necks.

I bought a fresh new crisp down comforter and splurged at Nordstrom on two pillows that really cost more than I care to think about, but that promised to provide amazing lumbar support!!  I hid the pancake pillow in a safe place just in case these million dollar pillows didn’t work out.

We gave our bed to Michael, figuring that for his little body it would be quite perfect.  His two-year old bed with very soft pillow-top luxury went to Sam and Sam’s hand-me down bed that was 8 years old went in the garbage.

Always the fan of POTTERY BARN - the boys were able to pick out the sports bedding of their choice – and we got rid of any lamps or accessories that was deemed “baby-ish.”

Sunday night we were all so excited to go to sleep in our new beds.

I just wanted to feel as though I was in a cloud.  I think that I deserve that.

Seriously - how badly do you want to just jump into this right now??

Seriously – how badly do you want to just jump into this right now??

The next morning we were all cautiously optimistic about our new lives as human beings that slept on proper beds.

None of our backs hurt and we all had a good night’s rest.  To be positive that our lives were changed forever we would need one more night – but we were fairly certain that things were looking up.

“Did you love the pillow? Please say you loved the pillow…it really cost a lot of money…” I begged Mr. Gaga.

“I think it could be good…but I can’t be sure yet..” he said hesitantly.

It would take one more night to be really sure.

But Monday morning something happened that would ruin all of our chances to find out about the joys of sleeping or the luxury of a bed that is suited perfectly for our bodies and our lumbar systems.

During a quiet morning we were completely caught off guard.

The TODAY SHOW was on while we ate our breakfast.  The kids were eating cereal quietly.  Just the sound of their clinking spoons and Matt Lauer were behind me as I made their lunches at the counter.

Suddenly, they were screaming and crying.  I whipped around quickly when I realized they were in distress.

They both had their eyes closed and were screaming “Turn it!! Turn it!!”

I couldn’t understand what was happening.  “What?!” I screamed frantically, but then I looked at the television.  Matt Lauer was gone.

And this fucking bitch was in his place.

photo (6)

Um…. you’re not Matt Lauer….

Yes, Warner Brothers Pictures decided that it would be a great idea to show a trailer for their movie, Annabelle, that would make a grown adult shit their pants at 7:45 AM.  This movie preview aired when innocent children are eating their cereal minding their own business, waiting for Al Roker to tell them if it will be hot out.

That evening I found myself tortured all night long.

Both children couldn’t sleep, claiming that every time they closed their eyes they saw “that doll.”

Finally, Sam fell asleep after I coached him to think about Halloween candy, the beach, and Santa Claus.

Michael could not be consoled that easily.

“I keep seeing the doll!” he cried.

"It's just a's fake....just don't think about it..." I said. "Plus you don't have any dolls so you are safe."

“It’s just a doll…it’s fake….just don’t think about it…” I said. “Plus you don’t have any dolls so you are safe.”

He kept calling me to his room, and with tears in his eyes would explain that he couldn’t possibly go to sleep with this image in his head.

Every fifteen minutes I had to press pause on my DVR and go up and reassure him that the movie trailer was fake, the doll was fake and that everything would be okay.

I rubbed his back until it seemed like his breathing slowed.  I slowed down my back rubbing until I stopped my hand and rested it on his shoulder to see if he was asleep. He shot up into a seated position, “Don’t leave!” he begged.

I would go downstairs, and then would find myself back upstairs rubbing his back again shortly.

The torture continued until I decided to just go to bed myself.

I could hear him crying in his room so I invited his huge grown adult body into bed with me and a 3 hour deep REM sleeping Mr. Gaga.

“Now go to sleep,” I whispered as I turned out the light.

I dozed off quickly with his body pressing against my back but was shortly woken up by sobbing.

” Michael! STOP! You are going to wake up your father!” I whispered impatiently, “It’s fine – we are here, now stop this!”

He sniffed and calmed down a bit, and I quickly dozed off again.

Suddenly I was awoken again by my new heavenly bed shaking with Michael’s heaving body.

I am too old for this shit.  I purposely had my children young so I wouldn’t be in my late-30′s and lose sleep from a crying child.

I jumped out of bed and dragged him out by his hands.  I whipped him out of the bed and dragged him to his room – nearly pulling his arm out of the socket.

It was one AM.

“Get in bed!!!” I yelled while simultaneously flipping on every light I could find. “Read some books and get your shit together!” I yelled impatiently.

I frantically reached into his book shelf and whipped a bunch of books on top of this bed.

“I feel like I am going to throw up.” Michael said helplessly while he sat upright in his spanking new Pottery Barn Teen Mets Bed.

I ran to the bathroom and grabbed the wastebasket and threw it next to his bed. “Here.” I said as I turned to go back to my room.

I retreated back to my bed.  I laid down and closed my eyes and just as I started to doze off I heard his sobbing again.

I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

I resolved that I would go to sleep and he would have to figure it out on his own.

The sobs continued and suddenly Mr. Gaga threw our new bedding off of his body and stomped out of our room and into Michael’s bed.

*The bad thing about giving your queen-size bed to your 8 year-old, is that there’s no good reason why you can’t sleep with him when he’s sobbing.

The next morning I stumbled out of bed and woke up the children.  We were all bleary-eyed at the kitchen table eating breakfast silently.  I sipped at my coffee contemplating my day ahead and my night before.

“Do you think that Michael needs psychological help?” I whispered to Mr. Gaga as I made the kids’ lunches.

“No.” he answered shortly.

“I guess Mommy doesn’t like to help children when they are scared…” he announced to the kitchen.

“Yeah – she threw comic books at me.” Michael whimpered.

Mr. Gaga looked at me disapprovingly while I sipped my coffee.

“It’s a fake doll!!” I screamed at everyone defensively.

They all looked back at me with disgust.

Mr. Gaga spoke to Michael and gave him a good luck charm to make him feel safer and the sleep schedule is getting better around here – but I don’t blame myself for not comforting Michael at one o’clock in the morning.

I blame WARNER BROTHERS PICTURES for this travesty.

Children are eating their Pop-tarts   donuts  cake  Cheerios, thinking about all that’s right and wonderful in this world  in the morning before school.  They don’t need to be tortured by some fucking twat doll that comes to life and murders people.

This is not appropriate for the breakfast table you fucking assholes.

This is not appropriate for the breakfast table you fucking assholes.

Now instead of being a well-rested woman that sleeps atop billows of cotton candy….I look like this:

photo (5)

Does this look like someone with a new bed?? I don’t think so.

I hope your happy, Warner Brothers.

I hope your ticket sales are through the roof.

I told a friend of my plight, to explain my horrendous looks.

“You know it’s based on a true story….from a possessed doll in Connecticut.” she told me gravely.

Holy fucking shit balls.

Holy fucking shit balls.

We are trying to move past this.

We are trying to enjoy our new beds and million dollar pillows.

Pray for us.



No Thanks Geraldine…No thanks.

Some of you are not going to like this.

My mother’s generation fought for the rights of women.

I grew up feeling powerful and equal as a result.  I watched Geraldine Ferraro running for President of the United States and I believed that I could grow up and be anything and anyone.

I was a bright child and once I realized that, I was certain that the world was my oyster.

Well, my oyster definitely did not include grocery shopping and playdates….and fast forward a decade or two.  Looks like the joke’s on me.

Does this look like a fun oyster to you???

Does this look like a fun oyster to you???

I never ran for president.

I never even tried to climb a corporate ladder.

I just worked and did what I wanted to do and then I married Mr. Gaga and then I had kids.

And now that I work sometimes part-time and sometimes full-time, I have realized that this working thing….this “let’s be equals thing”….it’s not all that.

You cannot do it all.

Something has to give.

It is nearly impossible to find balance and satisfy yourself, your family, your husband AND empty the dishwasher.

There are just not enough hours in the day.

I mean is staying home and doing nothing so bad?

And let me just tell you what suffers when you are a working woman:

#1 – SLEEP

When you work and maintain a household – sleep is the first thing to go.  When I think back when I was home with the kids not working, I remember struggling to get the kids to preschool by 9:00 AM!!!  I also recall luxurious afternoons of napping and reading a magazine on the couch.

When I am working, I have to set an alarm to wake up before the kids in order to get shit done.  Then after they go to bed at night I have a million things to do that I couldn’t accomplish during the day.  I end up going to bed at midnight.  My undereye circles are darkening more and more each day.  I look horrible and feel horrible.

Thanks a lot women’s libbers.

While Geraldine Ferraro was doing great things for women - her undereye area took a real beating...

While Geraldine Ferraro was doing great things for women – her undereye area took a real beating…


So I have a choice each morning.

I can wake up early, get the kids ready for school, and pack a bag for the gym which includes work clothes, and hair and makeup supplies.  I can speed to the gym, get in a quick workout, shower at the gym and rush to work never looking quite right, with sweat still glistening on my brow.

Or I can stay home, throw in some laundry, clean up the breakfast dishes, empty the dishwasher, pick up Mr. Gaga’s dry-cleaning, etc.

If I choose the house maintenance this adds to my muffin top growth, yet if I don’t- Mr. Gaga threatens to wear my thong underwear to work.

It’s a real catch-22.

If you wait to work out when you get home from work, then you have to really be organized about dinner and after school activities and be sure that your husband will be home so that you can scramble to your class at the gym and then you miss dinner with your family so you feel guilty about that, and then when you get home you’re met with a sink full of dishes and nobody has done their homework.

So most times you will just come home from work and say “Fuck this shit.” aloud to anyone who’s listening and pour yourself some wine – which also perpetuates the muffin top.

So it’s a never-ending cycle of fat and doom.


Mr. Gaga will be the first to tell you that I suck at laundry.

But I do understand and appreciate the importance of clean clothes.

I might be able to throw some laundry into the washer and it might get into the dryer before it starts smelling like mildew – but if I am working – then that’s where the laundering ends.

This morning, when I was digging throw the clean clothes trying to find Sam’s football uniform, I thought to myself – I really have to fold these clothes tonight after a long day of work…(on a Sunday.)  I felt a pang of guilt and shame that I would let the laundry get to this point.

It's clean!! Just very wrinkled and piled up to the ceiling,,,,

It’s clean!! Just very wrinkled and piled up to the ceiling.

After breakfast, I came upstairs to get ready for work and caught Mr. Gaga looking for socks.

He just rummages through shit - with no thoughts of shame or guilt...

He just rummages through shit – with no thoughts of shame or guilt…


I may or may not have to go to the bathroom sometimes.  When that occasion arises it is imperative that nobody is home and I have peace and tranquility.  Well if you have to get ready for work, and go to the gym in a hurried frenzy or run errands quickly before arriving at your place of employment  - there’s no peace, there’s no tranquility and there’s quite frankly no time.

Now the choice is do you perform human bodily functions at your place of employment?

No way.

So then by the time you get home from work and do everything that needs doing – often you have missed your window of opportunity.

That’s right.

I said it.

Working women are constipated.

So now we are fat AND bloated.


So between the working and the child rearing and the “having it all” – who the fuck has time for the grocery shopping?

Not me.

Not anybody.

Please refer back to #1 – WORKING MAKES YOU FAT.

There’s just no time for grocery shopping at all – let alone healthy choices and proper meal planning.  Sometimes if I forgo the gym I will actually make dinner in the morning!! before work.

Or sometimes after a long day of work – you can find me blindly throwing shit into my cart in a frantic race to get home, making bad choices and growing my muffin-top.


Sometimes if I am really tired, I use a grocery store motorized shopping cart….

And guess what’s another option when you are bleary-eyed and beaten down by “the man?”

So maybe my kids throw the apple slices out the window and we ask for a chocolate milk instead of regular I mean how bad is it really??

So maybe my kids throw the apple slices out the window and we ask for a chocolate milk instead of regular, but I mean how bad is it really??


Who has time for a manicure or pedicure when you are working?

How about time to cover up gray roots that make you look like your 65 years old?

There’s NO time for any sort of grooming or maintenance when you have children, and a household and work.  Suddenly before you know it – you look like Grizzly Adams.


When you are a stay-at-home mom – you have time to look at yourself in the mirror and realize that your beard and moustache are rivaling the stars of Duck Dynasty.

You also have time to address any other private hair removals that might need tending to.

A friend told me recently that she no longer had time for her bikini wax due to her busy work schedule.

“I have a huge bush right now!!” she said with disgust, “If anyone ever asks me what the huge bulge in my pants is – I will have to say ‘I am a working woman!”

Looks like working women everywhere have this problem!

Looks like working women everywhere have this problem!  Is this what Geraldine envisioned for the White House?

In closing – I know some of you might feel like this post is setting back women.

You might think that I am thinking of trivial and vain matters like moustache removal and laundry folding, when there are important topics to discuss as women.

I don’t care.

I am a woman, and sometimes a little femininity doesn’t hurt.  Sometimes it’s nice to look good and feel good and take a fucking nap.  There’s a reason why Donna Reed didn’t have a beard and an abdomen filled with poop.

She didn’t fucking work.

Sometimes I think we should all consider what we have given up.


I said it.




True Colors Revealed

There are many things about modern-day motherhood that I don’t enjoy.

I started this blog because I was sick of everyone pretending that everything about having a baby was all rosy and delightful.  I was sick of seeing mothers post how “blessed” they were every two seconds on Facebook.

I was sick of people saying “I love being pregnant!” and “I gave birth in my bathtub and it was amazing!

When women get pregnant for the first time they feel very pressured to enjoy all of the maternal joys of pregnancy, and go into this whole motherhood thing expecting an instant bond with their baby and a feeling of bliss.  When that doesn’t happen – they feel like failures and often spiral into a deep depression.

I blame all of those twats who never mention anything truthful for this.  They don’t want to mention anything unpleasant for fear of admitting to us and themselves that they are not perfect.

Now in a new twist of horror – these unknowing mothers-to-be are so excited! to be having a baby! that they are doing photoshoots, cards, and social media announcements to let the world know about the gender of their child.

This momentous occasion that used to just be an ultrasound tech telling you whether they saw a dick or not at your check-up is now dubbed the “gender reveal.”

I really cannot tell you how I want to murder these idiots.

First of all, I just look at them and think -”These morons have no clue what they are in for.”

Pregnant woman with husband playing to be pregnant

Ok dude – you are totally NOT pregnant and putting a throw pillow under your shirt is not cute – you look like a huge douche.


Instead of doing some assholic photoshoot they should be enjoying their baby-free days.  These poor people don’t understand the value of a little something called “FREE TIME.”

You have time to take pictures holding pink balloons and pretending that your husband is pregnant?

How about you run for your life to the mall – a place that you will never go to again without a stroller and a screaming child.

Or how about a little something called a nap? Because you can pretty much kiss those goodbye for approximately 18 years.

Nope, these jerk-offs will just waste money and time hiring fancy photographers to capture this special announcement in all types of clever ways.

Look at these two asshats….

Go inside and watch a fucking movie and take a nap!!! You are going to be doing pinatas for the next eight years!!

Go inside and watch a fucking movie and take a nap!!! You are going to be doing pinatas for the next eight years!!


And what is up with these husbands? Why are they going along with this?  Does the guy in the pinata picture have a bandana on around his neck??  Mr. Gaga saw this and said “That guy should forget the photoshoots and try to have some sex…because he’s not going to have any of that for a while….”

It is all very absurd and embarrassing -but on top of that, it’s an all-time low for narcissists.

I mean do people think that we care that much about the gender of their baby??

The nerve of them.

Filling up my Facebook feed and my mailbox with this bullshit!!

Do you think that because you are having a newborn child that has the necessary chromosomal makeup to make him a male – that warrants you gluing a huge brown mustache to your walls?

To top it off you shall stand next to said “wall mustache” holding a little stick with a little miniature black mustache on it – placed over your belly carefully implying that your newborn baby is such a male that he has a mustache??

Get a fucking hold of yourselves people.

Oh your little cute embroyo is the size of a pomegranate??                   I don't know how to tell you this....NOBODY  FUCKING CARES!

Oh your little cute embryo is the size of a pomegranate?? I don’t know how to tell you this….Nobody fucking cares.


Some of this stuff is just plain offensive.  I mean it’s actually a small newborn innocent child and I am sure he or she would not the world talking about his or her privates.

So you want your friends and family to pretend that their huge finger is your newborn child's penis?

So you want your friends and family to pretend that their huge finger is your newborn child’s penis? You are a sick puppy.


And then there’s the masochists.  These people just have no clue how torturous their life will be so they do stupid shit that makes a huge mess.  Little do they know they will not have clean clothing or surfaces of any kind for years to come.  They don’t know that they will be on their hands and knees scrubbing floors and tubs and wiping up vomit and diarrhea everyday – so they think they are very hip and cute when they destroy their clothing with a special photo session called a “gender reveal paint fight.”

During this photo sesh – the couple throw paint at each other in the color depicting the gender of the baby while the photographer clicks away – capturing this special moment.

Look at these two dicks…







For the love of Jesus – what the fuck is wrong with everyone? Has everyone just lost their minds entirely?

I just cannot imagine telling Mr. Gaga that I was going to go in the back yard and douse him with paint while I paid a photographer to take his picture.  After splattering his face with paint – I would rub my huge pasty fat body on him and then request that he put his hands into the shape of a heart on my belly.  And then SURPRISE! GENDER REVEAL! I would post the pictures on Facebook for all of the world to see.

That would be called in the Gaga household a little event called “DIVORCE PAPERS REVEAL.”

I cannot urge you pregnant social media mavens enough.  Put down the paintbrushes and the pinata sticks and the cameras.

Enjoy your pregnancy as much as possible.  Do not waste ANY time!!

In a few short months – life as you know it will be forever changed, and you will look back and wish that you had that hour back that you spent splattering your husband with paint.

Go to the movies.

Get a massage.

Go to dinner.

Take a long walk.

Anything is better than posting on Facebook an embarrassing picture of you and your significant other.


You fucking assholes.....

You fucking assholes…..

Well - I have whipped cream and what looks like a period on my face...It's a GIRL!!!!

Well – I have whipped cream and what looks like a period on my face…It’s a GIRL!!!!






I have to reblog this each fall because it is my most read post of all time and because I already want to drop kick these Pottery Barn lunch boxes over the nearest cliff……Could it be possible that it’s not even mid-September and I am already sick of making my children lunch?


When I was very young, my mother decided that I was quite independent and capable.

Upon discovering my love of “doing things myself,” she rearranged her kitchen cabinets and moved all of the cereal to the lowest cabinet. She taught me how to pour milk and make a sandwich for lunch. Once the basic survival skills were mastered she informed me and my brother that she would no longer be available in the mornings.

From that point on, we were responsible for getting ourselves up in the morning, getting dressed and ready for school, making breakfast and making ourselves lunch, and getting to the bus stop on time. To our credit (and hers) we managed to do this pretty much without incident. We never missed the bus and I don’t remember feeling neglected or abandoned in any way, even though the very first cereal I remember preparing for myself looked like this….

Fast forward to modern times when I have my own children and I have spent countless hours up at the crack of dawn preparing meals and snacks. Reflecting back on that time – it seems just a bit outrageous.

It’s a topic of conversation that she doesn’t enjoy, yet my brother and I bring it up constantly. It usually goes like this….

“Mom – remember when you announced that you were never waking up again – and we had to make our own lunch?”

She usually rolls her eyes…..”Oh – like you had such a bad life? I think you’re fine.”

“Yes – I’m fine – but it was little ridiculous that you weren’t up with us…”

“Oh, poor you…yes – you had it sooo bad. Did you have a good life? Did your father and I send you to college and give you a nice wedding?”

“Mom – that’s not the point – I am just saying – it was crazy to expect us to do everything by ourselves….we were like 2.”

“I was helping you to become more independent…..Like it’s so hard to pour a bowl of cereal?”

“Well it’s not – but when you are 4-years-old the gallon of milk is a little bit heavy.”

Usually it’s by this point in the conversation that she has left the room or hung up on me.

While I do think her morning routine was completely unacceptable, I am secretly envious of her 1970′s “laid back” parenting style.

Imagine just simply not waking up in the morning and sleeping in with no worries about what your children will wear, eat for breakfast or eat for lunch? How luxurious!

While I know that those days of parenting are long gone – never to return, I received full confirmation this week when I opened my Pottery Barn Kids Fall Gear 2012 Catalogue.

To start off I should have known I was in trouble when the catalogue started off with a picture of a preschooler carrying a backpack.

The “Pottery Barn people” must have really brain-stormed to come up with an image of a child that everyone could relate to.

It was only logical that they decided on a photo of a small child carrying 250 pounds of school supplies in a bag that is as big as he is, outside on the grounds of what appears to be……Harvard?

Oh yeah – and of course his name is Penn…What else would it be? And I am sure we could all agree that yellow suede loafers are the obvious choice for 4-year-old boys.

OK – so on to the lunch bag section of the catalogue. Of course modern-day parenting dictates that all snacks and lunches must be presented to children in fancy canvas totes with their names on it in bold text accompanied by an image of Darth Vader or Spider Man.

Gone are the days of the brown paper lunch bag.

Also, in the classic style of Pottery Barn, who historically since its inception seemed to make its mission as a company to make housewives and mothers feel badly about the state of things in their home……the “Pottery Barn People” have presented their impression of what a child’s lunch should look like.

Apparently their idea of a “lunch” drastically differs from mine.

Is this what my kids are supposed to see when they open their fancy lunch tote with 55 zippers and compartments?

Because that will never happen….

Please note that the sandwich has been fashioned into some sort of exotic daisy and a dipping sauce has been made available as part of Blair’s very balanced meal….If the other kindergarteners had any doubts if Blair’s mother loved her – I think it will be very clear now……

So … I am thinking I’m a great mother because I sometimes heat up Progresso soup in the morning and put it into a Batman thermos for Michael.

Once again – I am wrong. I am not mother of the year – in fact I might be the worst mother in America – according to Pottery Barn Kids.

As I kept reading – it became clear that I am, as I suspected, a very, very bad mother. I might as well just stay in bed like my mother…..because I have not once shaped sandwiches into a tic tac toe game smartly utilizing carrot shreds and pieces of grapes.

In the town where I grew up – If I ever opened up a lunch to reveal a tic tac toe game made out of sandwiches, I would get my ass kicked and my new name would be “Tic Tac” until I graduated highschool…..

Just when I was about to throw the catalogue in the garbage something caught my eye.

Wait – could this be true?

I know that good mothers are ones that send in little notes with their children’s lunch. I have been known to even send a note here or there.

But could it be possible that Pottery Barn Kids is SELLING IN THEIR CATALOGUE, something called “Lunch Box Love Notes.”

So – if you are too lazy or dumb to write out your own note to your child – no worries!! Pottery Barn has done it for you!!!

Thank you Mom for sleeping the day away and never sending me to school with a miniature sandwich with a yellow tomato ball and a queer love note on top of it.

Please notice the green note in the bottom right-hand corner.

So in case your kids is telling horrible stories at the lunch table – and the other kids are staring blankly at him – or saying something like “That story sucked,” – your note will be there to save the day!!

God forbid the 6 hour school day goes by without these children receiving some undeserving accolades from their mother!!

I actually perused the catalogue for a minute – thinking it would be nice to have the notes ready to go in the drawer in the morning. Maybe I would buy some, but I searched through the whole thing and couldn’t find any that were my kind of notes…..

Really?? It’s not enough that this lunch consists of yuca chips and cherry tomatoes? If my mother ever put a note in my lunch that said I was a “kind person” I would kill her.

I usually write things like:

“Hope you are having a nice day Michael – by the way the shirt you’re wearing is from Nordstrom – so if you rip your clothes at recess again today you are punished for a week.”


“Hi Love bug – don’t forget – if that bully bothers you again remember how Daddy told you to punch him right in the face!! Have a great day :)”


“If your friend offers to share his fruit snacks today, you are not allowed to eat them. This is why he already had a root canal when he was 4 – you will thank me later :)”

I guess I will be writing my own notes this school year…..



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