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Raising the (Salad) Bar

Kids today are just so goddamn dependent on their parents.  They are helpless overindulged little beings.

We have created this.

Parents today have hovered and helicoptered so much that we have rendered these poor innocent children so completely and utterly paralyzed that we don’t even know what they are capable of.

I saw this first-hand this week.

Goopville Moms decided to put forth a great effort to affect change in the school food program.  This effort manifested itself this year with the PTO purchase of 11 salad bars (one for each elementary school in town) which would be wheeled out and utilized every Wednesday.

“Children will have fresh salad once a week!” the PTO rejoiced.


Even though there is fake fruit and vegetables on the top – the actual salad bar is quite pitiful….

With these amazing developments came a request from the PTO for parent volunteers to man the salad bar.  Each Wednesday 2 parents would have to commit 2 solid hours of their day to doling out lettuce to rotten children.  Needless to say I was on the list of parents to contact regarding this.

“So – why do we have to be cafeteria workers?” I asked calmly to the Salad mom in charge.

“Oh – it’s fun! It’s so nice to see all of the children enjoying the salad bar!” she answered cheerfully -not really answering why my life had been boiled down to a school cafeteria employee.

I agreed to a couple of days in the beginning of the year and marked my calendar.

This week – after the hustle bustle of the holidays was officially over I felt like I could breathe.

The house got cleaned and slightly organized.  I hit the gym.  I made dinners. I washed clothes.

All was right with the Gaga world.

I was browsing through my phone checking out my calendar Wednesday night when I saw something alarming.

Oh dear...

Oh dear…I didn’t do that….

“Oh my God the “Salad Bar Mom” is going to kill me!” I thought. Hopefully the other mom on duty held it together.   I ran to the bottom of the stairs and called up to the kids who were in bed.


“Fine!” they called down disinterestedly.

“Was anyone there?!” I called.

“Nobody!” they answered.

Oh no.

“WAS LETTUCE FLYING EVERYWHERE???” I called up frantically.












This could be catastrophic!

This could be catastrophic!


“NO MOM!!!! NOTHING HAPPENED!” they answered with annoyance.

Hmmm – the other mother didn’t show up either and nothing happened.

Nobody even noticed.

The whole next day went by and the salad bar mother didn’t even contact me.

“I think this a major development!” I told Mr. Gaga excitedly. “By not showing up- I forced hundreds of children to be resourceful and pick up their own cucumbers with a pair of tongs and they succeeded!!”

“Don’t try to twist your negligence into something other than what it was….” he reprimanded.

I rolled my eyes as I texted the salad bar mother to apologize but to let her know that everything ran smoothly and there was nothing to worry about.

She was not impressed with my experiment.

She had heard that some children had eaten salad without dressing because they didn’t know how to get it.

“See?” Mr. Gaga confirmed, “You dropped the ball,” he said shaking his head – mocking me.

“I dropped the ball? I screeched.

“Do you know that just this week a girl Sam’s age dug herself out of a plane crash that killed her family and traveled barefoot through the woods to rescue herself??” I demanded.

“And I am supposed to feel bad that these useless brats didn’t have enough ranch dressing on their lettuce?”

Mr. Gaga shrugged.

He doesn’t want to admit the facts.

Our children are capable of doing a lot more than they do.  How will we know what they are capable of if we don’t let them try?

Next year Michael and his classmates will be in fifth grade!! They are going to start going through puberty!

Will they have pubic hair and body odor and I will be cutting their meat for them?

Is this what Michelle Obama envisioned when she started her healthy food in schools initiative?

You're cute - now go get your own damn salad....

You’re cute – now go get your own damn salad….

That grown-ass children with their periods would be waiting for me to sprinkle croutons on their salads for them?

Do you think the Tiger Moms in China are scooping chickpeas all day?

"You guys are assholes..."

“You guys are assholes…”

It will be interesting to find out what children can really do – and I am going to know the answers soon, because after this salad bar experiment I decided I am really going to try not to do anything for my kids ever again…..

I will let you all know how it goes!!

Happy 2015!




What I learned in 2013….

It’s time for my annual year in review.

I am lucky to have this blog so I can go back and see what happened in my life throughout the year and see what mattered to all of you. Here is the blow by blow recap:

JANUARY 2013 – In the beginning of 2013 we started preparing for Michael’s first holy communion and I was met with the ugly truth behind the Catholic church’s planning for date selection. I almost got killed during the “Sign-up for Communion date” meeting – but I got the date I wanted so it worked out….

These women ended up not getting the date they wanted because they had to be rushed to the emergency room..The cross above their heads is a symbol of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Jesus died on the cross for us. On nights like this one, I am sure he’s wondering if that was a bad move….

These women ended up not getting the date they wanted because they had to be rushed to the emergency room..The cross above their heads is a symbol of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Jesus died on the cross for us. On nights like this one, I am sure he’s wondering if that was a bad move….

2 – In February, just when I was starting to doubt Jesus and his almighty powers, I was saved and all was made right in the universe when Kim Kardashian was impregnated by Kanye West.

I still find it shocking that Kim wants to be wrapped up with this narcissistic asshole but I guess she will eventually figure this out the hard way…..

I wrote her a very special letter to warn her about what she could expect…


3 – In February we were met with yet another Northeast weather disaster.  This particular catastrophe was a BLIZZARD!  Per usual people lost their fucking marbles while they attempted to prepare for 3 FEET of SNOW!!!

By the time I got to the local grocery store this was what the banana stand was like …just so you can see how insane people behave during inclement weather…..


I know that bread and milk were sold out – but now you are all going to live off of bananas? And who’s the wise guy that just left behind a plantain and a box of firecrackers???

4 – In March, everyone was all abuzz about the book “Leaning In” which detailed how women of today could totally focus on their career and succeed!! I found that I was much better at “leaning out.”

This was the last time I "leaned in" for something. I was trying to listen to the weather report to be sure I heard correctly that my kids would have their 10th day off from school due to snow.

This was the last time I “leaned in” for something. I was trying to listen to the weather report to be sure I heard correctly that my kids would have their 10th day off from school due to snow.

5 – In April we went to Disney World.  Boy, was I in for a real education on American behaviors.  I relayed my astonishment regarding the HUGE BEVERAGES that were served in Disney World and the HUGE HUMAN BEINGS that were zipping around on carts.

Some of you got pissed about that…..

Sorry! I just report as I see it fat people!


Look how this guy balances his massive soda with a broken hand!! These injured people are so determined!!!

6 – In May, we finally had Michael’s communion after much hard work. (see above)

It went well except for when I lost all of my photos to document my good holy works, thank Jesus I still had my pic of the holy cross made out of pepperoni…

What more could Jesus want from me?? I mean if this cured meat cross doesn't secure my place in heaven then I give up....

What more could Jesus want from me?? I mean if this cured meat cross doesn’t secure my place in heaven then I give up….

7 – As the summer approached I may or may not have bumped up my drinking and bumped down my parenting…

If the kids found me like this in the morning they just made their way to camp on their's called building independance in children....They will thank me one day.

If the kids found me like this in the morning they just made their way to camp on their own…it’s called building independence in children….They will thank me one day.

8 – Toward the end of the summer, we started to get ready for back-to-school, which is when I once again noticed how offensive the Pottery Barn Kids catalogue was…..

In the classic Pottery Barn style which aims to make us feel badly about our homes, bedding, and lives….the PB Kids version, now aims to make us feel bad about our kids lunches and what we put them in……

This blog went VIRAL!! It was my hit of the year – and I know it’s because we all feel the same angst about lunch making in America.

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.

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.

9 – In the fall one of my good friends had a baby.  I went to visit her and noticed that sometimes new mothers go a little crazy when it comes to first baby nursery decor.  Many of you were VERY ANGRY about my commentary…but many of you were VERY LAUGHING at how fucking stupid it all is….This is why I LOVE MY READERS!!!

Please note the newborn size tiara's on the shelf...I believe that tiara was placed on the baby's head as it was crowning to be sure that she knew immediately that she was a princess....

Please note the newborn size tiara’s on the shelf…I believe that tiara was placed on the baby’s head as it was crowning to be sure that she knew immediately that she was a princess….

10- Finally in December, while I juggled all that I had to do I realized that this ELF ON THE SHELF was really putting things over the edge for me.  I wrote an open letter to the clever Elf creators…..

You guys think you and your elves are just so damn cute....All I see here are three twats with double chins....

You guys think you and your elves are just so damn cute….All I see here are three twats with double chins….

Everyone loved this…This was my number 2 post of the year!!( only second to Pottery Barn lunch post.) What does that tell me??

That mothers in America are tired!!  We don’t have time for stupid bullshit like daisy sandwiches and Elf games!! We are smart, busy people that value our time and energy!!!

In closing, it has been a great year for Lady Goo Goo Gaga, and I hope to continue learning and growing and sharing my stories.

Thank you all for reading every week!! And for CLICKING ON THE BANNER BELOW!!!!

Happy New Year!! XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA



Time to get back into the swing of things.

And by “back,” I mean the kids went to school for two days and then we skipped Friday to take a long weekend at the beach.

I mean how much school can someone take in August?

Anyways – I was a bit concerned that all of the sun and laid back beach time was making the kids a bit lazy. When I asked them what activities they wanted to do they didn’t seem to be interested in anything.

Now that they are 6 and 7 I feel that they should kind of have some interests outside of video games and Spongebob. I convinced one to take soccer and the other to take tennis.

That’s enough. Then Michael announced he would like to take drums, so I agreed to that. Then they both decided they would like to play flag football. Now starting this week I am going to be one of those crazed mothers driving from practice to practice everyday.

I really wanted to enjoy this last weekend of freedom. I wanted to make it a point not to even think about the fall schedule until after the weekend.

Last night, (the last night of the summer) I fed the kids some mac and cheese from the box and plopped them in front of the television. I poured myself some wine and headed out onto the deck with a few family members, determined to have a nice night.

This should do it...I just black out in no time....

This should do it…I’ll black out in no time….

Maybe that’s why when a bunch of old friends came over unexpectedly with vodka in hand, I was a little to quick to down the most delicious martinis I ever had.

We were all out on the deck, and people kept hearing the party and joining in. The more people who came the more shithoused Mr. Gaga and I became.

And then some lawyer or cop showed up with possibly the best party entertainment ever…a breathalyzer. It got passed around and it became almost a competition to see who could get the highest number.

Needless to say- Mr. Gaga was disappointed with his 2.5 score.

Needless to say, even though it was the highest one of the night, Mr. Gaga was disappointed with his 2.5 score.

It just seemed that whenever I thought I was getting a little tipsy I would blow a .12 and then everyone would boo me at the party and I would have no choice but to down another martini.

At some point well into my third or fourth martini, a girl I had met only once before asked me if I had children.

I stared at her drunkenly. “Yes…..Oh shit….I DO have children!! I totally forgot!”

I ran inside and found Michael watching tv as though it was any other night. Sam was missing. I looked at the clock.

Oh shit....

Oh shit….

I stumbled over to the microwave…

This would fall into the category of "bad parenting..."

This would fall into the category of “bad parenting…”

“That’s it!” I said with authority.”It is WAY past your bedtime young man!”

Michael looked at me and shrugged. He got up and went to bed, which is where I noticed that poor Sam was under his covers.  He had, under the duress of having no mother, taken it upon himself to go to bed.

With the kids officially out of my hair the party continued.

I served everyone shots in votive candle holders because I couldn’t find shot glasses and things got really crazy.

When we finally went to bed it was around 2.

Needless to say when the kids woke up in the morning things weren’t pretty.



I could barely speak or function.

I looked at poor Sam and he was still in the clothes he had on the day before.

I desperately needed an egg and cheese sandwich so I drove myself to the nearest place I could find and squealed up on two wheels.

I came back with coffee for the kids and a breakfast sandwich for Mr. Gaga.

When we felt that we could mildly function after downing eight gallons of water and our greasy sandwiches, we went to the beach and were able to hold it together somewhat until the lunch picnic we were planning on going to got cancelled.

There was no way I could suddenly go from worst mother ever to great mother of the year and come up with a healthy lunch.

I gave the kids a few bucks and sent them to the ice cream truck for lunch.

After a while they came back and gave me change and said that they were full – and could they save their lunch for later and handed me what was left.

These are huge jawbreakers....apparently otherwise known as "lunch"

These are huge jawbreakers. They are large sugar balls that can break your jaw…and apparently are otherwise known as “lunch.”

I have made it through the day.  I am utterly exhausted but I eked out this blog post miraculously.

All I can say is as far as parenting goes….it’s gotta be all uphill from here.

Happy Labor Day!

Don’t judge me…..



Dolls gone Wild

Mothers today seem to want to do everything for their children. If you asked my parents they would even include me in that statement.

During the summer months, we are at the beach and I try to take a step back from helicopter parenting. They ride their bikes to camp alone, they run up and down the beach exploring and swimming for hours, and when the day is over they hop into the outside shower together and clean themselves.

Sometimes while they shower I pour myself a glass of wine and forget where they are altogether.

A friend from home came to visit and was horrified at shower time. “Well, how do you know if they are clean?” she asked.

I shrugged, “Well….I guess I don’t.”

What age are you supposed to hand over the washcloth and hope for the best? I mean how old is a boy supposed to be when is mother stops scrubbing his asshole and his testicles?

The tasks that modern mothers have trouble relinquishing control of don’t end with butt and penis washing.

I know many 5 and 6 year-olds that don’t know how to zip their coat, tie their shoes, or wipe their butt when they poop.

In the defense of mothers, it is much easier and quicker to just zip a jacket than wasting precious time teaching a child how to do something.

When Michael was going to first grade I realized that his foot was way too large to keep putting into a velcro sneaker.

I thought this was not a cute look for kindergarten....

I thought this was not a cute look for first grade…

I found the perfect solution and signed him up for the shoe-tying class at Nordstrom.

Mr. Gaga put his well-tied shoe down firmly.

“Cancel it, that’s ridiculous.” he said.
“But I was on the wait list for 4 months to get him in!” I pleaded.
He stared at me. “You could have taught him by now.” he said heartlessly.
He had a point.

When does all of this hand-holding, butt-wiping, jacket zipping enabling come to an end?


Once it starts – it is hard to stop. I know of two mothers who actually inserted their daughter’s tampons for them, because “they didn’t want to do it themselves.”

Well I didn’t want to do it either so guess what happened to me? I wore a big honking maxi pad for 2 years until I was ready to try to insert a tampon myself.

Mothers today are all too quick to solve problems and gloss over everything to make sure that even if everything isn’t perfect it will at least appear as though it is.

Hide that doll's hair and face...she's embarrassing me....

Hide that doll’s hair and face…she’s embarrassing me….

This urge to solve problems for America’s children has reached an all new low.

A troubling post keeps appearing on Pinterest that instructs users how to make dolls look better.

When I was young I had Barbies and dolls that occasionally got a bad haircut, my kids have a superhero who occasionally rip their cape or lose a limb or even get run over by a huge truck.

That’s life.

But no!!

We don’t let children today experience what it feels like to have a doll that looks like a crystal meth addict.

It’s highly unpleasant to have a doll with snarled hair – but no worries, like everything else – we can FIX it!!

Millions of people have pinned this post which carefully outlines how to make your child’s doll look better.


If you have time to kill and find it a top priority to make sure your kid’s doll doesn’t look like Lindsay Lohan than here is the secret recipe!

I am sorry but am I the only one who has better things to do with their time than spend the day making a doll not look like a whore?

I have a hard time keeping up with my own beauty routines.  I often find that I am falling behind on my waxing, haircuts and color, manicures, etc.  So while I walk around with a full moustache and chipped toenails, is someone suggesting that I spend my day delousing a doll and making sure that she looks well-coiffed?

Has everyone in this country lost their god-damn minds?

There are plenty of mothers out there (you know who you are) that walk around town wearing yoga pants, no makeup, and gray hair.  Perhaps you could take some time for yourselves to actually go exercise in your yoga pants or take a hair appointment.  Certainly ANY activity would be time better spent than worrying yourself about how embarrassed you will be the next time your daughter has a friend over and she sees that her American Girl doll looks like Amy Winehouse.

I know you will all say it is because I have boys that I don’t understand the importance of this task…but you are wrong.

I am a girl.

It is laughable to imagine me or my friends growing up in the 80’s, bringing some jacked up doll to our mothers and asking them to comb their hair with fabric softener so that they won’t look like whores.

I asked my mother to do my Barbie's hair and when I came home she looked like this....

Once I asked my mother to do my Barbie’s hair while I was at school and when I got home she looked like this….

Why don’t we use these “whore dolls” to teach important lessons to today’s little girls.

You can sit your daughters down with the trampy doll and say “Look, there’s nothing we can do. Look at your doll sitting there spread eagle, smoking a cigarette with her eyes glazed over, her snarled hair and her ripped outfit all askew.  She has made a series of bad decisions and now she has to face the consequences…..”

Why don’t we use these unfortunate tramps to teach young girls to make good choices and not to go down the wrong path?


There she is in the street…where she belongs!

Mothers – come together and find something to do, or at least think of me the next time you feel the urge to spend your day combing doll hair.

Just like humans, dolls sometimes hit a rough patch.  Sometimes it’s not all castles and prince charmings….

It’s an important lesson and one that is never too early to teach.



Foul Balls

Some weeks, as Sunday approaches I start to get nervous.

Some weeks go by in a flash and nothing outrageous has happened. I start to worry about what I will blog about.  Sometimes I think, maybe everyone is starting to be normal and life is boring and there’s nothing to say.

But then – I just venture out into my INSANE town that is FILLED with LUNATICS and I will always have some material to work with.

My schedule worked out this weekend so I was able to make it to the kids basketball games Saturday morning before work.  I have missed a bunch, so the kids were happy to have me there.  Sam’s game went well and we moved over to the next court for Michael’s game immediately following.

I only knew one mother there and sat down next to her.  This happened to be the mother I know who always posts on Facebook “how blessed she is to be homeschooling.”  You might imagine we have very little in common.

We made small talk while Michael was lining up with his teammates to start his game.  A boy he doesn’t know was behind him and kicked him in the back of the leg for no reason.  Michael turned to face him.

“Stop kicking!” he said to the kid.

The kid just looked at him and wound up and kicked him hard in the privates.

Michael hunched over in pain and started crying.  I sat on the bleachers slack-jawed watching the coach reprimand the penis-kicker.   My mind raced as to what would be the way to respond to this assault.

It would be a perfect time for Michael to turn into a wolf but that seemed unlikely.


teen wolf dunk

I’m sorry – but by the way, does it seem strange that we fully accepted this as a quality cinematic production starring Michael J. Fox? Look at his legs please.

The coach ran over and sent the “junk-kicker” over to his dad on the bleachers.

I stared down the kid with a look of disgust and horror as much as I could but he didn’t even glance my way. I whipped my head around to adjust my squinty eyeball glare towards the Dad but he didn’t care either.

I tried to size up the situation and figure out why both of these people were immune to my evil glare and realized that the father was a huge Richie Cunningham look-alike with what seemed to be the same nerdy disposition.

I almost could swear I saw this guy on the sidelines encouraging his kid to be an asshole...

I could swear I saw this guy on the sidelines doing this to his kid when he kicked Michael…

He didn’t say ONE WORD to his balls-kicking devil child, and he didn’t say ONE WORD TO US OR MICHAEL as tears poured down his cheeks and Mr. Gaga took him to the bathroom to assess the situation.

You know what Opie – maybe say you are sorry that your son is a huge douchebag….or say “I am so sorry that Michael is infertile now because my kid is a testicle-destroying asshole.”

At the very least make some sort of show pretending to reprimand your kid.

Any appropriate response will do.

None of that happened.  Nothing happened.  It was as though I was in the twilight zone.

While my son was now missing the start of his game, the balls-kicker sat on Richie Cunningham’s lap and stared straight ahead watching the game.

Smoke poured out of my ears while I desperately thought how I could properly punish these horrible people.

When Michael came back from the bathroom with pink cheeks and puffy eyes I called him over.

“If that kid touches you one more time – you have permission to punch him as hard as you can in the face.” I said furiously and loudly.

Mr. Gaga stared at me with alarm as Michael ran onto the court.

“What?” I demanded.

“Everyone is staring at you now, maybe you should go to work.” he whispered.

“I don’t care.”

I started to get my stuff together to leave for work and guess who decided to pipe in with her two cents?

Homeschooling blessed mom!!!

“You know…you are not telling Michael the right thing to do….” she said with a smile.

Did this bitch have a death wish or what?
“Um, I am teaching my child to defend himself and not just stand around getting kicked in the balls by a maniac who has a father that allows such behavior.”

She continued to smile and said “Hitting is not the answer.”

I was going to lose my mind.

“Listen, when you ever let your kids venture out of your house – you might find that the real world is a little rough – and your kids are going to get their asses kicked…..If Michael punches that kid today I will give him a high-five.”

She looked at me and shook her head and said sadly, “I know you will.”

I took that moment to exit the gym.  I called a friend on the way to work to relay the story, who thankfully agreed that the whole scenario was obscene.  Then she gave me a great idea.

“Maybe next weekend, if that mom is there just go up to her and kick her in the crotch and see what happens.”

Maybe I will just start doing it to everyone I don't like.....

Maybe I will just start doing it to everyone I don’t like…..

Basketball games just got a lot more fun.

Linking to “I don’t like Mondays blog hop”



Jingle Hell 2012

This has been a horrible week for Connecticut and America.  Not that it would ever be okay, but to have such a disgusting act of violence occur right before Christmas is even more devastating.

My heart is broken and I am sickened by what the world has come to.

I cannot possibly complain about anything or make fun of anyone when such a grave tragedy has come upon us.

I will say however that more than ever, I feel so grateful for my life and my family and friends.

I will also say that I think we should be sure to keep children’s lives happy, carefree and filled with joy as much as we can.

They will grow up soon enough and have to endure this world and all of its vile atrocities and tortures.

When I was reflecting about this idea today, I thought back to one of my blog posts about the parents that decided to tell their little sweet innocent 2-year-old that there was no such thing as Santa, so that he would know that his parents were the ones actually buying him gifts.

Every time I think of this I get newly furious with these morons.

This post is read quite regularly, because one of the most common phrases googled by people, which brings them to my blog, is “SANTA GIVING THE FINGER.” 

Go figure.

I thought today would be a good day to repost this – so we can take a minute and really think about what stupid bullshit we waste or time and energy focusing on…instead of enjoying life and our children.

Tomorrow I will announce the winner of the Laura Mercier Caviar Stick, in the meantime enjoy this tale of holiday asshattery:

Jingle Hell

Posted on September 18, 2011 by Lady Googoogaga

So – I signed up a while ago to a service in town – where moms could receive emails regarding pertinent information about children, parenting etc.  Some reasonable uses of the service would be say – “Does anyone know the best pediatric dentist in town?” or “Where is a good place to go for piano lessons?” or “Has anyone ever been to the indoor water park in Waterbury?”

Many people for one reason or another ask inappropriate questions and what I consider inappropriate requests to  a community of unknown mothers in town.  The constant stream of ridiculous emails is enough to send you off the deep end – see below for the latest offense this week (and for those of you who still think I make this stuff up – this is word-for-word!!)

Subject: Advice


You all have been great in giving advice in the past that I thought I’d run something by you. What do you tell a 2-yr old about Santa? I would like for him to believe in Santa but my husband says that there’s no reason for him to.  That he should know that we buy his gifts because we love him. Has anyone else made the decision to tell their kids that Santa isn’t real? What did you say and  what  was the outcome?

Also…does anyone know where I can get K-Cups (for a Keurig coffee maker) for a cheaper price? At the grocery store they’re $8.99 for a box of 12 and I was informed today that they’re going up.

Thanks in advance! You all are awesome! Love, Jenny


Hi Jenny – Thanks for calling us all awesome!!

You know who is not awesome?


Just so you know – it’s September!!  And Christmas is not really top on everyone’s to-do list but since you asked……

Many families were grappling last week with remembering the loss of loved ones on September 11th, and probably thinking about one day explaining this horrible day to their children.

In this economy, I know many families who are struggling with telling their kids that they might not have any presents at Christmas because their mom or dad (or both) have lost their job.

Nationwide – parents will be figuring out where Christmas will be this year because their home was washed away in a flood or hurricane or lost in a foreclosure.

But your husband is right!!

You should totally shower your 2-year-old child with “gifts of love” and then tell him they are all from you!!

We live in a nation that at the 10-year anniversary of September 11, 2001 is still at war, close to 10 percent of our nation is unemployed,  millions don’t have access to healthcare while facing deadly incurable diseases like cancer and AIDS, 1 out of 110 children are diagnosed with autism and global warming is destroying or ending people’s lives all over the world.

That being said – I can totally see why what little happiness your child might have before facing the harsh realities of adulthood, should be ripped away from him – all so he can properly thank your husband for the $200 of Little Tykes crap he bought at the Toys R’ Us.

I mean really – why should Santa get all of the credit?

And by the way your husband sounds like a real peach!  Wherever did you find him? It’s so rare to find a good man who is not an ego-maniac!! Lucky!!

He also sounds super-intelligent and super in-touch with childhood development.  Does he have a PhD in this subject?

I know that he is so looking forward to the day when he can announce to a group of people that he has chosen to ruin his child’s life  tell his child that there is no such thing as Santa  – so that everyone knows that he is “above” such silly rituals.

Oops – small problem – Jenny!  Your douche-bag super-awesome hubby – failed to read the chapter in his PhD textbook that discussed the fact that 2 -year- olds…..(and I quote from a real medical textbook on childhood development)

pg. 201- ”Don’t give two flying fucks who gave them the Little Tykes crap.”

They don’t even get the concept of receiving a gift yet  – so when you have this all-important convo to break the bad news…..guess what?

You will have the same convo next Christmas when he’s three – and then probably again when he’s four.

He will not even remember your “love gifts”  – let alone who gave them to him.

Oh – and Jenny – one more thing – when you have this sit-down – could you do us a favor and let him know that you 2 are the only ass-hats that are doing this?

The rest of us quite enjoy lying to our kids and letting them experience little emotions called “joy” and “wonderment” and don’t need you and your tortured child ruining it.

Thanks!! That would be super-awesome!

In closing – I see you had a little question about coffee cups!  Who doesn’t right? LOL!

Well – I notice that you sent your email via Blackberry – which means that you’re savvy enough to use modern technology – but what you might not realize is that there is this little thing called a newspaper.

Inside it – usually once a week – you will find something called a circular! Each store actually lists their sale items using photos as well as extra-large bold text that will state the sale price – like $1.99!!!!!

Oh – by the way – I had a sec – and I googled Keurig sale – and it said there were about 1,200,700 results you dumb bitch…….

It is super-easy to read and very user-friendly – maybe even more so than your Blackberry!

If you feel like you still cannot find a good price for your Keurig coffee cups – don’t hesitate to shoot us another email.  We will all stop what we are doing  (you know because we are all stupid morons that believe in Santa) and find the best price for your coffee!!

Hope this helps!

Your friend – LADY GOO GOO GAGA

PS – I sent a copy of your email to Santa – and this was his reply – ( he asked that I pass it along to you) :



Tom Hanks was wrong…

There is crying in baseball. 

A lot of crying.

There is also playdate crying, LEGO crying, swim crying, bike riding crying….it’s endless.

That’s all these whinge-bag boys do around here is cry.

Growing up I remember once playing with the kids on my street, and my brother was getting pushed around by one of the older boys (today we would say he was “being bullied.”) One day, my brother couldn’t take it anymore and he started crying while doing a crazy windmill like motion with his arms towards the bully.

I don’t remember how it ended, but the only thing I remember is the crazy windmill move (it was weird and kind of funny) and the crying (it was rare.)

Today little boys cry with reckless abandon.  They don’t gives two shits.  They just cry and cry. 

They don’t care who sees them.  

They don’t care if people think they are cry-babies or sissies.

I think little boys should cry if they have a valid reason, as they are young children and clearly shouldn’t have to hide their emotions because they are boys.

Valid reasons include: injuries, legitimate fears or concerns, hurt feelings by a friend, etc.

Invalid reasons would be I don’t know……not liking swimming lessons or getting a strike at baseball.

We started a new swim school a couple of weeks ago.  My thinking was last time I spent $400.00 and Sam cried every single day, and perhaps if we tried a more low-key program for half the price we would have better results (emotionally, anyways – I have pretty much given up on the swimming part.)

The kids were in separate classes so upon arrival, Michael headed off to the deeper end of the pool and Sam stayed in the shallow end with a younger group. 

Michael is a much better swimmer than Sam, with 18 months and an extra year of swimming lessons on him, so I was most concerned with Sam’s abilities on the first day. 

I breathed a sigh of relief when Sam waved at me with a huge smile and jumped into the pool.  I sat down to relax a bit in front of the viewing window.

But wait, why was Michael being escorted by his teen swimming coach towards the viewing window in tears?

I stood up to greet him and the college girl at the door.

“What’s the problem Michael?”

“I’m sinking!!! I am going to sink!” he cried in hysterics.

I looked at the teacher expectantly – who was frankly doing nothing to help the situation.

“Is he sinking?” I asked.

“No – he just needs to calm down…..” she said hesitantly.

“He can swim, he must just be nervous.” I assured her.  I looked down at Michael and spoke in my famous “fake nice mommy voice.”

“You can swim, your teacher won’t let you sink – you are just rusty, now go to your lesson.”

5 minutes later they were back.

“What now?” I asked impatiently as I whipped open the door.

“He has to use the bathroom.” the teacher explained.

“No you don’t – now stop it and finish your lesson,” I said to Michael between gritted teeth.

“Yes – I really have to go!” he said wiggling around.

I grabbed his arm so hard it almost came out of the socket and dragged him to the door to the boys bathroom.

“Get inside and go to the bathroom and hurry up.  You better be out here in one minute.” I yelled at him.

I stood waiting outside the door with smoke pouring out of my ears.

Tick. Tock.

A couple of minutes went by.  I opened the door and called inside, “Michael what is the hold-up?” 

No answer.

“Michael – so help me God – you better hurry up and get out here or you will be punished for a month.” I screamed like a lunatic with no regard for young men walking by me and witnessing my insanity.

No answer.

“MICHAEL!!!” I screeched.

“What????” he answered.

“Hurry up!!!!!”

“I’m pooping.” he called back.

I actually looked around for something I could smash into a million pieces, but couldn’t find anything, so had to resort to more inappropriate screaming.

“Michael – you better hurry up – this is not an appropriate time to poop!!!!” I screamed.

He finally moseyed out in tears again about sinking.

I dragged him by the arm over to the teacher. She was in for it too.

“Oookaaayyy, he is no longer allowed to speak to me during swimming lessons.”

“Well if he says he needs to use the bathroom we are obligated to bring him.” she answered curtly.

“Well he just took a huge shit for twenty minutes so he’s good.  Do you think he can like learn to swim or something?” I answered shortly and turned on my heel.

Needless to say his pooping and crying landed him in Sam’s class.  He got demoted.

At least he doesn’t cry anymore.

And at least I have straight vodka to drink when I get home from these little activities.

And thank you Jesus for giving me a job that requires me to work a lot on weekends.  Because of this I have missed a lot of Michael’s baseball season.

I was recently able to catch a full game.

Let’s just say it is very lucky that it is MR. and not MRS. Gaga that is the coach of this team of fat and lazy children.

Many of these losers can be frequently found laying down or “looking for mushrooms” in the outfield actually during the game!!!!

You are probably asking “what do their parents say?”


Their parents say nothing!!

Their parents are very busy on the sidelines on their Blackberries and Iphones playing “Words with Friends” and updating their Facebook status to read “At Ethan’s baseball game!! We are so proud of him!!

The thought wouldn’t cross their minds to actually look up and WATCH THE GAME and NOTICE THEIR WRETCHED CHILD’S INAPPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR!

The moms who are off in the shade watching the game quietly – are the ones who kids are actually good.

The parents who show up in Vineyard Vines attire and a huge Tommy Bahama beach chair with a matching sun umbrella are the ones to watch out for.

This dad of one of the players, put his iPhone in his pocket for a minute, looked up and realized that his son was in the outfield picking flowers and had also shit his pants, so he quickly got back on his phone again……

Those moms in the Lily Pulitzer attire at the game are the ones who will say “Oh we are so busy with Hunter! He has tennis and golf on Mondays and Tuesdays, karate on Wednesdays and baseball on Thursdays and Saturdays!!”

I am quite tempted to say “Oh really – is that Hunter? The fat kid who just ran from 3rd base to 2nd? The one Mr. Gaga told me pooped in his pants during the last game?” That’s super that he plays 3 sports!! You must be the best mother in the whole town!!!!

These kids not only shit their pants, and look for mushrooms instead of catching the ball.  They are known for crying when they get tagged out and crying when they don’t get a hit.  They also will refuse to leave the field when they are clearly out, because they DON’T WANT TO, and if they do leave the field against their wishes, they will take their batting helmet and smash it as hard as they can (which isn’t very hard because they are pathetic, doughy wusses) against the fence or onto the ground.

To add insult to injury – at the end of this horrorfest – the score?

It’s a tie.

Every game.

No matter what.


“If you had fun….you won.”

Can you believe this horse shit?






At some point these children in America are going to have to experience a loss, to understand what it is to be defeated, to possibly be inspired to do better or to stop looking for mushrooms, so that they can WIN!!!

Because in real life when you spend your entire lesson time or game time taking a shit and crying – guess what?


I think fellow mom blogger Momma Kiss said it best when she was shocked to find that most parents wouldn’t let their 7-year-olds play dodgeball because it was “too rough.” She wrote:

“I mean really – the pussification of boys these days.”

Enough said.

If you like this loving blog post about how I scream at my children and call other children fat losers, then please share on Facebook!!  ALSO -ANY LIKES ON FACEBOOK WOULD BE GREATLY APPRECIATED!! XOXOXO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

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