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Archive for January, 2006

Pageant Mommies Must Die

Pageant Mommies must die. What portion of their brain makes these women (and the occasional gay uncle) decide that turning a 2 year-old into a walking Amber Alert is a good plan? You’ve seen these 30 pound car wrecks, a blur of baby-safe eyeliner, spray tans and ass-shaping pampers. Did we learn nothing from Jon Benet ? Your baby is not a car ornament. Or a car for that matter. I don’t get it. But then, I don’t get a lot of things even from women that aren’t pageant moms.

There seems to be this strange obsession to have hot children. I was at BabiesRUs the other day and I saw with my own eyes, tube tops for one year olds. What the fuck is this? It’s bad enough that Britney Spears was wearing this crap at 16 but now we’re supposed to put a tube top on a baby that’s 12 months old? I think if I was a baby I’d say “please don’t whore me out! I’m a baby! I don’t even have a sense of my own style yet but if I did I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be WHORE-VILLE” I don’t get the crazy outfits. Maybe I was just not ever a women with the best fashion sense myself but I certainly don’t give a shit if my daughter is wearing clothes that cost five dollars or five hundred dollars.

I pray this is a problem that is limited to Los Angeles and Texas. The obsession for beauty has gone beyond Botoxing for anyone over 25 and infiltrated the babies.

People love to comment on how attrative your baby is out here in Hollywood. “Wow, your baby is really beautiful” takes on a different meaning. It’s Los Angeles for “Does he/she have an agent?” I can’t say it’s suprising but it is irritating. Whatever happened to being happy your baby was healthy? Now we’re obsessed with their looks. No wonder half of our young girl population has an eating disorder.

Having had a bout with bulimia from 16 to 22 I refuse to ever get caught up with what she’s wearing or making her look girlie or dressing her all in pink so people won’t see the overalls and blue onsie and say “what a cute little boy.” IT DOESN’T MATTER. Maybe I’m just bitter. I’d love to put her in an AC/DC onsie but I can’t afford it. They’re $50 bucks at Fred Segall.

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on January 27, 2006 5:15 amUncategorized11 comments  

PREGGO LAND

Let me just start by saying if you have an ultrasound picture of your baby stuck on your refrigerator with a magnet, you’re not someone I want to be friends with. And if you have someone else’s baby’s ultrasound picture up there, well, that’s just a cry for help. I’m never sure what I’m supposed to say when confronted with this. “Wow, that’s one sexy fetus?” I got pictures from my ultrasound too but I didn’t wallpaper the house with them. Isn’t it bad enough that we have to see a million pictures of your baby after it’s born? Now we have to see what it kinda sorta looks like before it even comes out?

I knew early on in my pregnancy I wasn’t like other pregnant women. When my husband and I went for my ultrasound, (yes, he came with me: there was like a 95% percent chance he was the dad we figured he should tag along), the first thing the nurse asked me was if I’d brought a video tape. A video tape? I must’ve looked confused because she explained to me “most people want to take home a souvenir of this magic event.” I nodded and said “Yeah, I definitely won’t need that. I’m barely on board with the whole pregnancy thing as it is.” To which the nurse replied that she was reporting me to social services. Okay, she didn’t say it out loud but I could see it in her stare.

Clearly there are many many people who do opt for the ultrasound video. If you are one of them, just know – I don’t want to see it. Oh, and that goes double for your skydiving video. About the only way I’d ever be interested in watching footage of your big jump …is if you don’t make it. It’s like the world is chock full of people with no clue of their capacity to be irritating. And pregnancy just magnifies it.

Pregnant women seem to take one of two paths when they get knocked up, although — being annoying– they’d probably refer to it as a “journey.”

First there’s the woman who loooooves being pregnant. You know her. She’s so excited to join the Cult of Mommy that she’s taking pregnancy yoga before the before the stick turns blue. Anyone who revels this much in being pregnant is suspect in my book. These are the kind of women who will keep a pregnancy journal, refer to the day the baby is born as “the bless-ed event” and throw around the word “amazing” like Jay-Z uses bitch. There’s also a very good chance they make their own Christmas tree wreaths and light potpourri. These are not my kind of people.

Most of the women in this camp also refuse to find out the sex of their baby because “they want to be surprised!” I hate people who love surprises. Plus, is it really going to be that much of a surprise? It’s either going to be a boy or…it’s going to be a girl! Actually, the only real surprise I can think of is if the baby comes out a different race. Then, I would say, it’s going to be more of a surprise to the father.

Charlie Sheen and Denise Richards split up when she was 7 months pregnant and a lot of people were shocked. I was too. I can’t believe he lasted that long. You can just tell by looking at her that Denise is in the above category. I read an interview with her from when she was pregnant with her first kid where she talked about how “complete” she feels and how a Perrier with lime and just a teeny splash of cranberry juice is such a wonderful alternative to a glass of wine. You know what else is a wonderful alternative to a glass of wine? A shot of tequila! Is she on crack? Obviously not, that might make her interesting. Sadly the time pregnant women quit drinking is the time a lot of them most need a drink. Or at least I do to be around them.

I ran into one of these ladies at my OB’s office. As you can probably imagine, there’s nothing worse than a room full of pregnant women with time on their hands. I had been scanning the room hoping to find someone to talk to who at least had a little bit of personality, so I struck up a conversation with the only woman not knitting. She immediately tried to engage me in a conversation about nursery themes. Up until that moment, I didn’t know nurseries had themes. It’s not a fucking prom it’s a baby’s room. I guess having a crib just isn’t enough. Now you have to have a jungle theme or a fairy princess theme. There are actually books devoted entirely to this subject. Go to Amazon.com, type in “Baby Nursery” and then promptly kill yourself. There are tons of books listed there including one called “Spirit of the Nursery.” I’d be willing to bet my baby that Denise owns that book. I’m sorry but this just seems like overkill. Babies don’t even see in color until they’re teenagers or something.

But the euphoric preggos aren’t alone in their ability to empty a room. Pregnancy martyrs, you’re also on my watch list.

You know them – they hate every goddamn minute of being pregnant and can’t stop sharing it with the world. The ones who moan about what they can and can’t drink; wear; breathe etc, the ones who can detect someone smoking a cigarette from two Starbucks down and demand the offender put it out. You’d think they were the first person to ever get knocked up. They immediately start using the parking space designated for expectant mothers at baby stores (cloyingly named “stork parking.”) I want to tell them “you’re not handicapped, you’re having a baby. And, trust me, if you could see your ass right now you’d park as far away as possible. You need the exercise.” But I keep my mouth shut because pregnant women are good in a fight. Remember, they’re fighting for two now.

Look, I know pregnancy is tough. I’ve been there. I get it: Being the size of John Goodman and swimming in hormones is not pretty. One night when I was about six months pregnant I actually found myself tearing up in my car to a Bryan Adams song. In my defense I was a bit drunk (my OB said I could have 5-6 drinks a month…he mentioned nothing about spreading them out.) But the point is, behaving like a normal person is a choice. There’s no reason to alienate all your single friends and irritate your poor husband. I know he wants sex and you just want to watch the results show on American Idol. I know you feel too congested to give him a blow job, but put on a Breathe-Rite strip and take care of business. Suck it up, sisters (intended). Take one for the team. And for god’s sake please don’t email me any more pictures of your sonogram.

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on January 24, 2006 3:55 amUncategorized28 comments  

Man, That Last Post Was a Downer

Listen,

As a normally humorous human being you must realize that underneath humor is always pain. That’s what antidepressants and therapy are for! And I make use of both! Isn’t it amazing though how much time you have to reflect on the good and bad things in your life when you have a child barely over 2 feet to watch all day long? You’d think that you’d reflect less but oh no, when you have nothing to do but take a walk in the park, your brain does double duty. Wouldn’t it be great to find a way to turn off your brain for a little while? Without the use of drugs. And drugs, by the way, have never been very useful for my semi manic brain. Especially marijuana. I am the worst pot smoker of all time. Or was. I haven’t smoked a dubie since they referred to them as dubies. Okay, maybe not that long ago. But, pot makes me anxious and paranoid and HUNGRY. Weirdly, cocaine was a bad drug for me too. Most people would be chatting away full of ideas that would never come to fruition while I’d be grinding my teeth in a corner trying to stay away from the guy in the Black Sabbath T-shirt. I haven’t done cocaine in a very long time. Like 2 weeks. Okay almost 20 years. God I’m old. Too old to have every tried ecstacy too. Isn’t it funny to be at an age where the thought of trying a new drug is just ludacris? I know I spelled that wrong. Probably spelled Ludacris more like the rapper. But that just shows how hip I still am. I may not be going to a rave high on X but I know who a couple of rappers are. So there. Fuck all y’all!

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on January 22, 2006 12:26 amUncategorized8 comments  

Feeling Like An Outsider

I am surprised at how personal I’m willing to be on such an open forum like this but FUCK IT right? If you are reading this then I hope you are a friend. This isn’t junior high school.

I think my growing up situation has a lot to do with why I always feel like people don’t “get me” but do we ever get over our pasts? With all the therapy and antidepressants in the world can we feel like we fit in with all our peers, think alike, feel like we belong? I don’t know because I wasn’t brought up in a normal way and I don’t feel normal although I may look it. I don’t have tattoos to show you that I have a defiant attitude. You wouldn’t know by looking at me the sarcastic and defensive and irritated thoughts that run through my mind. But you also wouldn’t know that I cry easily when I read a sad news story or how I love my husband and child so much it feels like my heart might burst open at any moment. And how fleeting I feel it could be due to the nature of the way I was raised.

I had a father who was a rising stand-up comedian. He never quite made it big time although he was on Ed Sullivan, Carson, Smother’s Brothers, Merv Griffin etc. But he is a manic depressive narcissist who screwed himself over by thinking his genius should suffice and no effort should be put out on his part for his career, children (from four different marriages. My mother was number 3) or family. He never paid child support and my mother remarried a very tortured artist 6 months later. I guess she has a type. He was an angry, pot smoking, verbally abusive, anti social asshole. Let’s just leave it at that.

I was alone a lot and got used to it. I never did grow a thick skin though. Every mean kid in Junior High hurt my feelings. Everytime my stepfather gave me the silent treatment for months at a time, I didn’t get stronger, I just got trained for what I thought I could expect from men.

I left home at 18 and moved to Los Angeles to pursue I don’t know what. But I didn’t go into porn so don’t bother googling me. I waited tables for many years (until I was 28) but did stand-up comedy since I was 23. I attempted to live a normal life but everytime I would date a new person I would only go so far until I had to get out. I finally met my husband at 33. Which now seems young when I look at my single friends who are late 30’s and still haven’t met anyone.

Okay, so now I have husband, child, house in suburbs…but I still don’t feel “normal.” I’m still looking for kindred spirits and they are few and far between.

This post hasn’t been that amusing but what the fuck is a blog for unless you can be personal right? Read it quick cause i may delete it tomorrow, my little bugaboos.

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on January 21, 2006 5:20 amUncategorized5 comments  

The Bachelor Was Supposed To Save Me

What is happening with the Bachelor this year? I thought that I was in for some good old fashioned trash TV especially after last season with Charlie O’Connell being all snarky and in on the joke. Apparently the good people at ABC didn’t think the joke was all that funny and went straight back to bland stat. This new doctor guy makes me cringe all through the show. He’s got the dialog from the producers down pat already and the show’s just started. “Oh, it’s starting to be real.” “It’s really real now”. “The realness is setting in.” “I’m going on a journey of realness.” “I think I’m really ready to get real on my journey to find love.”

Okay, so then the one crazy chick lets loose with her “I’m ready to reproduce now” spiel and the doctor looks at her like she just took a double dose of crazy through an IV and kind of laughs smugly. then he, naturally, cuts her at the “most dramatic rose ceremony ever.” And she gets mad. Of course. And goes a little bonkers. So that could’ve been interesting. BUt now she’s off the show!! So we’re left with the dead eyed ex beauty pageant queens. Has anyone ever been as boring as an ex pageant bitch? Is there some sort of pageant rule that they all have to wear their hair the exact same way? Are they allergic to sarcasm or humor in general? Why can’t anyone have a hint of personality?

I’ve never hated anyone contestant as much as Trista of Bachelorette with her baby voice and passive aggressive “I’m going to be a fucking star if it kills me –but I’m the super duper nicest gal who’ll ever step on your head on her way to the top.”

But this season is looking like it’s just going to be plain boring. And American Idol isn’t exactly helping matters. They’re just going for normal crazy. People in costumes we already know are going to be crazy. Note to producers: go find the ones that the crazy lies just below the surface. It’s much more interesting to watch.

Baby angst is only cured by really really good/bad reality TV and I NEED ME SOME.

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on January 20, 2006 4:35 amUncategorized2 comments  


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