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New Product FORCES Your Child to Stay Awake!

Celebrities ARE just like us. Or at least they’re just like my freakin’ mom. I’m watching the Ellen DeGeneres show the other day and Modern Family’s Julie Bowen is there yammering about how when her kid falls asleep in the car she tries to keep him awake so he’ll take a nap at home instead. How freaking selfish can these real and fictitious moms get?! Back when I was in preschool my mom used to try the same underhanded crap when I tried to enjoy a nice car nap. In fact, she even went as far to market a product to facilitate her selfish goals. Luckily her business venture failed…just like her pathetic attempt to shed the baby weight five years after the fact.

Check out the commercial that she conned me to appear in by bribing me with candy:


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My Mom’s Got One Foot in the Grave and One On a Banana Peel

The very moment I had the horrible realization that one day, I’ll be forced to push this woman around in a wheelchair.

Everyone’s heard of the ‘Terrible Twos.” (I remember mine fondly, I threw some EPIC tantrums– very cathartic.) What no one prepares you for are the “Terrible 40’s.” They are pure hell.

For some idiotic reason, my mom, when she should’ve been researching suitable old folks homes, decided it was time to have a baby. She was 40.

Obviously, her biological clock keeps shitty time.

That means when she’s hitting menopause, I’ll be just entering my early teens. Hey, might be a blessing in disguise, she’ll probably be too disoriented from hot flashes to notice that I pierced my tongue.

Seriously, there’s nothing quite so off-putting as begging your mom to carry you and then hearing her bones creak when she picks you up. I have half a mind to spray her elderly ass down with WD-40.

And it’s not just her impending arthritis. I found out recently that she dyes her hair! Yes, my mommy has some gray hairs. If what I’ve gleaned from fairy tales is true that can only mean one thing: She is a witch. No big surprise really, you should see how she acts when I use her new lipstick as a crayon. Freaking scary.


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Why I’m Pissed My Mommy’s Not Chinese

The closest I'm going to get to Chinese values is Mulan.

Unless you’re living under a parenting rock you’ve probably heard about Amy Chua, and her new book Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior. Chua, it seems, believes the only way to raise a child is through military-like discipline including forced piano practice and pop calculus quizzes before dinner.  The mommy blogosphere of course is in an uproar. Moms like nothing more than to freak out about the latest parenting style de jour. Hell, I’d be surprised to hear my mom even had a parenting style. From what I can tell she’s making this shit up as she goes along.

I’ve got to side with Chua on this one. I’d be WAY better off with a Chinese mother than the one I got. My mom’s feeble attempt at instilling me with ‘discipline” is creating a flimsy chore chart. For the first couple weeks it was great.  I got stickers for everything I did. Now she barely remembers it’s there.  I’m quite sure her diligence in teaching me a solid work ethic will pay off one day when I land a job as head cashier at Target. If I’m lucky. Also, thanks to her, the chance I’m going to get a gig at in the Philharmonic is pretty much nil. Nobody’s forcing me to play the violin four hours a day. Au contraire. Mom’s  idea of introducing me to classical music is showing me Bugs Bunny in the Rabbit of Seville. Pathetic.

So, does my mom have the eye of the Tiger Mom?  Not bloody likely. Not only that, she makes a mediocre stir-fry. I am doomed.


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A 4-Year-Old’s Guide to Birthday Party Etiquette

Enjoying birthday party cupcake in a color not found in nature.

If there’s one thing I look forward to (besides a Dora marathon) it’s hitting the birthday party scene. I’m not ashamed to say I like to party. I party HARD. One memorable birthday bash I attended had a bottomless make-your-own-cupcake bar AND a bouncy house. On the ride home I barfed all over myself. Luckily my goodie bag was unscathed. Good times.

While my mom’s social life has dwindled to almost nil, mine is a flurry of soirees. (Thanks to the preschool “invite the whole class” mandate).

Your dance card filled? Here’s how to maintain some composure at your hottest social events, even if you’re hopped up on sugar and you’ve missed your nap.

DO dress for the occasion
You might think it’s “cool” or “hip” to show up to a party sporting your peed-on jammies from the night before, but that is just plain tacky. Also, swimsuits are only appropriate for swim parties. And, please, before you get yourself all revved up for a marathon stand-off with your mom, remember, clothes are NEVER optional party attire.

DO keep your hands off of the cake
Don’t give in to temptation and shove a handful of cake in your mouth, blow out the candles yourself, or wipe your boogers on the forks. That kind of bad behavior is sure to make your friend burst into tears and inevitably an adult will demand “The Apology.” Think about it. Do you really want to deliver a forced “sorry” with a face full of ill begotten frosting?

DON’T keep the birthday gift for yourself
When bringing a gift to a party, be sure to politely hand it over to the birthday boy or girl upon entering the festivities. No grabbing the box, shrieking “It’s mine!!!” and running out into traffic.

DON’T drink yourself under the table
… or, for that matter, drink under the table. Yes, the juice boxes will be flowing, but are you going to want to stop what you’re doing to get to the potty? If you’re not yet potty trained, it’s good form to go easy on the liquids — nothing will make you feel less like a “big boy” than being carted out like a giant baby for a diaper change.

DO beware the party favors
Generally those little goody bags are filled with useless items that your friend’s parents threw together at the last minute — an assortment of choking hazards and lead-based painted toys.  Upon entering the car to go home, simply dump the contents of the bag on the floor. That way you’ll always know where they are.

DO know when to leave
Do try to coincide your exit with your nap time. But if you absolutely can’t put your meltdown on hold, at least try to refrain from punching, kicking, and biting as you’re dragged out by your arm. Remember, your friend will have another party next year — and you don’t want to be left out. Make a good impression. Don’t be a douche.

Did I miss anything?


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My Parents Trashed My Dream House

Like most girls my age I’m hot for pink. I can’t get enough of it. I love the light red hue with so much passion my easily befuddled mom once wrote a post called Help! My Daughter is a Pink Junkie. Classy. 

So you can imagine the euphoria I felt when a year ago we moved into our a new house that was covered in glorious light pink. It was a freaking dream come true.  So what the hell happens next? My parents go all Home Depot and paint it — BROWN. Yes, like poo. Huh?! (Hey, it’s not the first time they’ve sullied perfection.) These two know NOTHING about curb appeal. I’d venture to say they lowered the property value by a 20, billion, million, 17 dollars. Minimum. Bye, bye college education!


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No Sh*t – Or Why I Enjoy Toilet Humor And My Mom Doesn’t

I suppose  it had to end. The holidays are over. As the tree gets packed away along with my easy access to candy canes, I can’t help feeling a dark wave of melancholy crushing me into a downward spiral of debilitating depression.

Then I think of my favorite poo joke and I laugh like hell. Here it is:

Knock, knock?
Who’s there?
Diaper.
Diaper who?
Diaper Rash.

Get it?!  Diaper RASH. Oh, man. I gotta catch my breath. That one always kills me. It’s an oldie but a goodie.

Seriously, how can anything be that crucial when you’ve got poo and pee jokes to carry you through?  Once, when I wasn’t in the greatest mood,  a kid showed me his Silly Bandz in the shape of a toilet. I almost lost it. IT WAS IN THE SHAPE OF A TOILET. Freakin’ HI-larious.

You’d think, maybe by now,  I would’ve moved on in my humor repertoire but I’m still enamored by all things toilet-related. I think everyone should be.  Occasionally, I like to inform my parents in great detail the size, color and (perceived) texture of the gems I’ve left.  For some reason they never seem interested. My mom in particular. She’s not a fan of the poo. I’ve heard her says she doesn’t even like scatological humor.

When she popped me out did she also pop out her funny bone?!

Get this: She can’t even stand the word “fart”  and would prefer if I said “passing gas” instead.  “Passing gas?!” Are you freakin’ kidding me?!  Pretty clinical for a sound that inspired the illustrious Whoopie Cushion.  Look, everyone I know says fart. It’s a funny word for chrissakes.

Here’s a simple test. Which sentence is funnier?

A) (Accompanied by relentless flatulence sound effects) Oh, noooooo!!! My doll won’t stop farting! Pee-yew!! (holding nose and running in circles around the room like a crazy person.)

B) (No sound effects) My doll continues to pass gas.

Please comment below.


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5 New Year’s Resolution Suggestions For Inept Parents

Mom demands iPhone

My mom demands that I give her iPhone back (as I take a picture) but can't even look up from her Facebook page. Pathetic.

Yesterday, my mom, in a feeble attempt to make conversation, asked me if I had any New Year’s resolutions. I had no freakin’ idea what she was talking about. I’m 4-years-old for chrissakes. I mean I’ve got to start smoking before I can quit, right? My parents, it turns out, have been doing this New Year’s Resolution bullsh*t for decades.  Apparently, it’s NOT working.  They show all the restraint and willpower of jackals.

That said, here are some suggested New Year’s resolutions for my parents, and parents everywhere.  (Let’s cross our fingers this year, shall we?)

1) Be LESS “social”
Accept your vanishing social life and stop using Facebook to simulate actual friendships. Your obsessive trolling of profile pages cuts into the time I could be kicking your aging ass at Memory.  Face it mom and dad, you’re no longer part of a vibrant social scene. Sheesh. You can barely stay up past 9 p.m.

2) Stop dieting
Plain and simple. Your endeavor to eat healthier is f*cking with my ability to acquire candy. Stop it.

3) Start listening
Parents are constantly telling us to, “Be a good listener.” Yet, here’s what happens when my mom is “distracted” by one of her many selfish habits (i.e. attempting to cross 8 freeway lanes to get to an off-ramp.)

Me: There was a spider in class today and Mattie crushed it on the window with a LEGO and blood squirted out.
Mom: That’s nice.

Nice?! Blood, dripping down the window of my preschool?! Nice for Freddy Kruger maybe. UM, WHO’S NOT BEING A GOOD LISTENER NOW?  That sh*t might’ve worked when I was two but I’m four now and I can tell when you’re phoning it in. Try opening up your ears for 2011. Deal?

4) Spend more time with people you don’t like
Instead of carting me off to playdates with your friends’ kids — usually the kid and I have nothing in common except a toxic disdain for each other– hang out with a mom you can’t stand — whose kid I DO like.  Now it’s your turn to be bored sh*tless!

5) Don’t get attached to material things.
Vases shatter, walls get written on,  couch cushions become fused together with syrup, expensive lipstick is used for doll “food” and dishwasher doors break when used as one-sided see-saws.  Sh*t happens. This year try not let your possession possess you.

See you in 2011!


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Is Santa a Victim of Identity Theft?

I met this Santa at a party. He had a beard UNDER his fake beard. WTF?!

Here’s the deal. I’ve just started to wrap my head around this whole idea that there’s this guy who lives in the North Pole and one night a year he flies through the air, shimmies down chimneys and delivers presents to every kid in the entire world. That I get it. What I don’t get, is how many guys I see stealing this dude’s identity.

Lately I’ve spotted at least 200 of these rip-off artists dressed up like Old Saint Nick. I’ve seen them everywhere. One was loitering in front of a gas station twirling a giant arrow. It certainly raises some questions:

Me: Mom what does that Santa’s sign say?
Mom: It says “Condo price reduction — in-house financing available.”
Me: What’s a financing?

And so it goes.

Last year I caught my own dad dressed up in a dime-store Santa suit and breaking into our house. (Isn’t that a felony?!) Seriously, the madness has to stop. We don’t need a bunch of frauds wandering the streets impersonating a man who makes it his mission to get me a new Princess Glamour Dress Up Trunk Play Set. I believe tougher legislation should be put in place so all of these impostors will get off the streets, the shopping malls and the one I saw drinking out of paper bag at a bus stop.

Anyone want to sign my petition?


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The Day My Mom Lost It In An Airport Bathroom

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I travel light.

One of the tried and true “mommy blog” topics is the challenge of traveling with young kids like myself. In fact, a quick Google search for “Tips for Traveling with Children Without Going Bat Shit,” yielded over 5 billion entries.

I’m relatively new to air travel. Didn’t take my first flight until I was 3. My mom was too much of a wuss to try it even though, before I was around, she traveled extensively (allegedly she went on a solo trip to India and did a trek in the Himalayas).  Yet, somehow, the thought of changing my diapers at 30,000 feet was too much for her. Go figure.

Last August she and I flew across the country together. BIG MISTAKE. On the way back, after two long layovers, we were both exhausted. We had 10 minutes to catch our final connection and suddenly SHE has to go to the bathroom. Not the greatest timing. (Why didn’t she go before?!) Anyway, next she gets it in her head that I need to go to the bathroom too. Really? You predict I need to go potty? Who the hell are you…Rasputin? I told her she was mistaken but she kept insisting. Talk about a control freak. Gives a whole new meaning to anal.

This kind of B.S. has been going on for a while.  Ever since I got out of diapers she obsessively asks me if I have to go. I’ve been keeping tabs on it. (Of her 1,239,494 bathroom inquires she’s been correct ONLY 99.9999% of the time.)

So anywho we find an airport bathroom and end up waiting in a hellaciously long line. When her turn comes she hurries me into a stall.  After she’s done she’s suddenly pulling down my pants and trying to put me on the toilet. You think the TSA is intrusive? Think again. I had only one choice in this situation. I screamed:

“Get your hands off of me!!”

She didn’t. She’s still trying to get me to sit on the potty. So I scream again. This time at the top of my lungs.

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME!!”

That did it. I’ve never seen my mom more embarrassed. She looked like she was laughing and crying at the same time (First sign of schizophrenia?) Still she couldn’t let it go without asking one more time,(this time in a whisper): “Are you SURE you don’t have to go?” Yeah, lady I’m sure.

The best part was she had to walk out with a long line of women staring at us. They were no doubt wondering “what kind of monster (who forgets to bring an extra change of clothes for her daughter) would force a kid to use the bathroom?”

Turns out our flight was delayed. So the next thing I know we’re at a restaurant and my mom is slurping on some sort of tomato juice with a celery stick in it that she claims is for “mommies only.” Ever heard of that?


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3 Ways to Stop Mom and Dad from Killing Each Other

My first day out of the womb. Let the fighting begin!

All I want for Christmas this year is for my parents to shut the f-up and stop bickering.

What? Too much to ask?

Hey, I know they love each other, (BTW I do understand what love is because I’m currently engaged to a guy in my class. His name is Emmett. He doesn’t have a car, a job, and often wipes his boogers on me but he’s mine.)

Anywho. My parents fight about the lamest things: Who didn’t take out the trash; who left the refrigerator door open and which one of them has sacrificed more of their lifelong hopes and dreams to make the mortgage payment.

But don’t worry I don’t need to be put into foster care. Nobody’s hurling lamps or waffle irons (Frankly I’d like to see my mom even use a waffle iron. Fat chance.) No, I’m perfectly safe unless CPS guidelines call for my removal because of the sarcastic barbs I’ve witnessed. And there are plenty.

All parents argue. They eventually get over it.  Problem is, then you have to endure the “make up kiss.” I’m not sure which is worse. Freakin’ disgusting.

Sick of your parents fighting? Here are a few tips to diffuse the situation.

1. Don’t take sides take BOTH SIDES!
When I hear my mom and dad using their “mad voices.” I quickly pipe in with an incredulous,  “Don’t talk to my mommy that way!!” On the next argument I’ll  interject a heartfelt, “Don’t talk to my daddy that way!!”  I have no real opinion on what these two nut jobs are going on about but it usually shuts them up quick.

2. Ignore them
This is the easiest and best way to get some time to yourself and score some sweets. When you hear your parents squabbling about being resentful because someone does more of the housework than the other (A favorite at my house!). Let them.  Use the time to get into that perfume you’ve always wanted to spray on your doll clothes and then pile your bathroom step-stool on a chair and reach those cookies you’ve had your eye on. They’ll never notice!  Then kick back, relax and enjoy a box of Oreos with your reeking baby doll. Sweet!

3. Distract!
When dad is pissed because mom forgot, yet again, to close the shower curtain (and now the bathroom floor is covered in water), it’s the perfect time to accidentally break a glass (or better yet a Christmas ornament!)  in the living room. Soon the bathroom flood will seem like smooth sailing. Nothing brings parents together more than preventing us kids from being impaled on shards of glass.  Nothing.