Gumballs of Wisdom

I feel so geriatric saying this but, they just don’t make television shows like they used to. Specifically, what ever happened to the ABC After School Special? I think today’s teens are partially in a shit storm because they’re missing valuable life lessons brought to them by B list actors. You don’t think I became the well informed woman I am today because of solid parenting? Hell no! Helen Hunt gracefully taught me how to fly “Air Angel Dust” and Rob Lowe proved not all Baby Daddy’s are bad in “School Boy Father.” Think about how beneficial it would be for today’s youth to see Leighton Meester ruin her reputation by attending a high school rainbow party. Kristy McNichol could play the “been there, done that” social worker who helps Leighton re-gain her self worth. Playing a pedophile could be just what the Dr. ordered to breathe new life into Leif Garrett’s career. It’s a proven fact: teenagers don’t listen to their parents but they DO listen to Paris Hilton. She would be perfect for an A.S.S on the dangers of herpes.

As a child, I remember watching John Travolta’s riveting performance in “The Boy in the Plastic Bubble.” Sure I laughed when he donned a space suit to attend school. I laughed even harder when Mr. Brady unplugged said suit from the car lighter and advised Johnny boy to, “Get your current where you find it.” Now that I have children, I’m an advocate for the plastic bubble as long as it’s BPA free. Between Lice and H1N1 I don’t want my kids to have physical contact with the outside world. I’ve become a proud Germaphobe. If I wasn’t afraid of catching scabies from the unwashed masses I would start a Germaphobe parade and lead that shit down 5th Ave.

Bounce houses, ball pits, water rooms and indoor play spaces in general have wreaked havoc on my life. Obviously I feel badly when my children get sick but in all honesty, I feel worse for myself. Not only will I not sleep for a minimum of 3 days but chances are I will catch whatever plague they have and still have to take care of them. When you’re young and childless you could have pneumonia on Thursday and still go for Happy Hour on Friday. If you were dating someone there was even a certain romance to falling ill. They would fetch you soup and give backrubs. Now I could be vomiting and would still have to make Annie’s Mac and Cheese.

Honestly, I could get on board with some entertaining parental wisdom in the afternoon from someone other than Oprah. You know, maybe have Sarah Michelle Gellar take a stand by nursing her baby in public or watch Soleil Moon Frye make a triumphant return to television as a mother trying to lose weight by any means necessary in “Over Exercised.” To quote one of my first ABC After School Specials, "My Mom’s Having a Baby": “I gotta go watch the baby. Can we work on this later?”

A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time there lived a Fairy Princess. She wasn’t particularly fair or dainty and most princes paid her no mind. Her parents weren’t regal and instead of a castle she lived in a tiny studio apartment. However, she loved the gays, making her a FAIRY PRINCESS.

This Fairy Princess has been waving the rainbow flag since she was a small child. She quickly realized the importance of having a gaggle of gays in her posse. She didn’t need woodland creatures to help her get ready for The Ball. She never asked “Mirror, mirror on the wall”, she knew she’d never be the fiercest one of all. Although she dipped her pinky in the Lilith Fair, she wanted a pussy pouncing prince to call her very own. Until then, she was tickled pink to kick it with her boys.

The fairy princess kissed a few frogs but never did fret for too long as her trusty Mo’s were always there with a “poison apple” to lift her spirits and take her dancing. Never was she happier than vogueing in a sea of shirtless Go-Go Boys. Life was almost perfect until tragically one night, when the clock struck 12, her gaydar malfunctioned and the princess’ little heart was broken. She recovered gracefully as all good fairy princesses do.

Time marched on and so did our Fairy Princess. She proudly marched for equality and embraced Gay Pride. One enchanted evening our Fairy Princess met her Prince Charming. He had absolutely no interest in who designed her glass slippers and embraced her homo’s like Bro-Mo’s. The Fairy Princess and Prince Charming wed and produced 2 heirs, a little girl and boy. They will be raised to love and never judge.

Now that the Fairy Princess and her brood live in the Burbs she doesn’t get to see her gays as often. She gets her fix by detecting the future of gay youth on the playground. Maybe she’ll even help ease some of them into becoming proud gay men just like a good Fairy Godmother should.


The End.

The Vagina Manual

My 5 year old daughter is a Jr. Gynecologist. She loves her vagina and at her age, what’s not to love? It’s cooler than her arm and her brother doesn’t have one. I’ve encouraged this burgeoning relationship not because I’m all "Our Bodies Ourselves" but because I’m the Ghost of Vagina Future. I view my vagina like a Gremlin. It’s cute and fuzzy but requires a lot of maintenance and must never be fed after midnight. Sadly, when gotten wet it doesn’t multiply. I hear some can though.

It’s reprehensible some women don’t properly prepare their daughters for getting their period. Ladies, how hard is this to explain? I can’t help but wonder what these poor uninformed girls must be thinking when it does happen. "Huh? I don’t recall skinning my vagina." I’ve already started to prepare my daughter because I believe early intervention will ease the pain of a lifetime of dealing. I want my son to know what’s up too. It’s so stupid when guys trivialize what we go through every fucking month. We know it’s gross. We didn’t ask for it. Frankly, if you started bleeding from your penis in the middle of, oh, anything, you would be a little miffed. Some people do go a little overboard. I’ve heard of women throwing parties for their girls when they start to bleed. I understand the cake part but what kind of games do you play? Pin the tampon on the pussy? If these parties catch on you know MTV will do a spin off of "My Super Sweet 16" and call it "My Super Menzes Bash."

Menstruation has been happening since the beginning of time and we modern ladies have it pretty good. Imagine if you had to leave your village every time you got your period to go sit in a hut with every other girl on the rag, literally on the rag. What did they use anyway? Actually this sounds pretty good. Your kids are driving you crazy, your husband is working late, you’re ready to fucking explode from PMS and you get to say “Hey, babe, come home! I just got my period and I need to go sit in the hut.” SHIT! We should totally open up a chain of Menstrual Huts. We could make them ultra luxurious like Elizabeth Arden Red Door Spas. You can look like shit, watch trash TV and eat crap. The bottom line: vaginas should come with manuals and sometimes batteries are required.

Simple Rules For Your Vagina:

* I know it goes against the grain but wipe front to back. Trust me it's not a self cleaning oven.

*NEVER show your beaver on camera or in photographs. ‘Nuff said.

*If you put a tampon in the wrong way hold your breath before pulling it back out.

*Get to know your body because it's like a fucking maze in there. (Do not however get a vulva pendant.)

* Do you Kegels. It’s the least strenuous form of exercise you'll ever do and you reap the most benefits.

* Your pussy does NOT have 9 lives so be careful who you share it with.

Bitching for the Sake (the rice wine)

There are legions of reasons why I love being a parent. But like any job, there are certain tasks which suck more than others. I mean, who enjoys cleaning fryer fat vats or handing out coupons wearing a donut costume? I’m not talking about the obvious parental tasks like potty training or that cyclical bitch, laundry. The tasks which plague me are the ones I like to refer to as, The Fine Print.

I suck at meal planning. I have no idea what I’m going to have for lunch tomorrow so how the hell should I know what two other people are gonna want. Especially people, who when asked, call out things like, "California roll" and "Chips." The recent onslaught of food allergies hasn’t helped my cause either. One day I walked into the classroom and was detained and questioned for sending my son with a personal sized Hummus. Clearly pre-school teachers are now being trained by the TSA. I quietly mumbled, "there are no peanuts or tree nuts in Hummus." She icily responded, "if you read the flyer you would know we have a sesame allergy in class."

Sesame, dairy, wheat and PEANUT BUTTER! What the fuckity fuck is going on in the world? Back in the day peanut butter was king. Annette Funicello was the spokeswhore for Christ’s sake. It was Un-American not to eat peanuts during the Carter administration. Not that I’m making light of food allergies mind you. That shit is serious. My daughter has seasonal allergies and the first time she had a reaction I carried her "Kramer v. Kramer" style into the pediatrician’s office. How about in lieu of Starbucks on every corner someone opens up a "Lunch Hut" where for $5 tired parents could purchase a delicious gluten, soy, dairy, wheat, and high fructose corn syrup free organic lunch you could pass off as your very own.

Lately, I find picking up the toys to be the most heinous part of my job. It's as if my children are in a daily race against the clock to take out and play with every fucking toy they own. I accept some of this is my fault. I mocked those who sang, "Clean up, clean up. Everybody, everywhere" opting instead for doing it myself so it was obsessively organized. I had my husband lift couches so Polly Pocket wouldn’t go to bed without wearing both of her stripper shoes. It seems as while our paranoia as parents is on the rise toys seem to be getting smaller and smaller. Hey, Playmobil! Is it fun for you to know I spend time on my hands and knees scouring my house for the microscopic removable moustaches? Are we training our children to work on tiny assembly lines? No wonder our parents made us play with pots and pans. No one ever choked on a pan.

Now give me my Sake!