Archive for August, 2006
So, I’m googing myself as I often do when I have time on my hands due to Elby sleeping or some unforseen break given to me by my husband, when I come across something entitled Sippy Cups are Not For Chardonnay rant. I immediately have to go see what this is all about. I’m not surprised when I’m taken to Mothering.com and find that a few of those judgemental breast feeding advocates or as I like to call them, “tit terrorists” didn’t love my book. But I was a little taken a back by just how humorless, judgemental and ignorant women can be toward each other. I don’t want to start a debate here on my blog about breast feeding. It’s obvious that these days the topic is about as neutral as abortion or capital punishment – but you’d think that I was advocating using babies for human experiments or suggesting that heroin is great for kids by these women’s reactions.
The reason I talked about breast feeding in my book was that I wanted to share my own personal experience with it. For anyone that hasn’t read Sippy Cups, and I’m sure there are a couple of you out there, I didn’t have an easy time of it.
When I was in the throes of misery, trying in vain to breast feed my baby with my 20 years before surgically reduced breasts (something I didn’t share in my book because it’s none of anyone’s business why I didn’t breast feed. We don’t need a reason)I had no idea that I’d eventually find many kindred spirits. Women who had the same shit experience that I had cradling my sobbing, hungry baby to my boob in the football hold while I, myself, sobbed endlessly in my postpartum depression haze. Yes, while I was popping Fenugreek like it’s my job, and pumping for 45 minutes to squeeze out a quarter ounce of liquid gold, little did I know that plenty of women quit without giving it a second thought. But many more torture themselves feeling that they would be letting down their baby, their husband and their country if they didn’t make it work. It’s such a shame to me that women have to be closeted formula feeders because they’re so terrified of what people might think. But certain women DO a strong negative opinion about women who are breast feeding challenged. And they’re not afraid to share it. Yes, it’s not our imagination. The proof is in that link.
Before the comments roll in about how tough it can be in some states to be a breast feeder, I know this. I am on your side. You should be able to breast feed anywhere you damn well please and that includes the men’s room at Starbucks if you so see fit. I really don’t give a shiznit where you want to park your breast but I don’t see why STRANGERS are so fired up by women who choose not to do it. I know that a lot of women feel that “breast is best.” They feel it strongly. They feel it to the depth of their souls. But this is no excuse for making another momma feel like crap because breast feeding was getting in the way of bonding with her baby. Or breast feeding was causing waaay more anxiety than it’s worth or or or WHATEVER. This also holds true for putting your baby on a schedule, boring them…I mean, reading them from the Collected Works of William Shakespeare in utero and the many other personal choices out there.
And now that I have done my share of ranting, I would also like to say, if any of the women who hate me on Mothering.com, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOUR SENSE OF HUMOR? Do you really think I was serious when I said that I wanted the baby in the nursery for a year? Are you on crack? Maybe you need to be. Lighten up and it will ease the load for both of us. God, if I smoked I’d need a cigarette now.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on August 31, 2006 3:30 am
I know the times they are a changin’ but, seriously, my daughter is a hussy.
In other news, I think I’ve discovered why it can be so hard to be a SAHM. Having a toddler is exactly like hosting an out of town guest indefinitely. Lately I’ve been feeling like Julie from The Love Boat – minus the cocaine addiction. Every day starts out with getting her out of her crib and immediately trying to figure out what she’d like to do. “So, would you like to watch some Elmo?” The kid just looks at me. “Are you still keeping up with Dora? I could put Dora on.” No response. “Hmm…well, would you like to see what’s happening on the Today Show then? No? Okay, why don’t I just leave the remote next to you and I’ll see about breakfast. Are you warm enough? Can I get you your blankie?” “Blankie!!” “Great, I’ll just get that for you and…here you go…would you like waffles and yogurt?” “Noooooo.” “Oh right. You’re lactose intolerant. I completely forgot. Well, let’s see what else we have. How about an egg?” I get the gas face. “Well then, why don’t we just go out for breakfast?”
After getting dressed and having a morning meal, we still have to burn off another couple of hours with activities. “Let’s see, you haven’t seen your uncle Mike in awhile, should we go swimming at his condo?” “POOL! SWIMMING!” “Great. Let’s go.” Then it’s home for a nap while I schedule the afternoon activity. Playdate, Target, grocery shopping, newest exhibit at the Getty, if we’re out and about she’s happy. Of course at dinner we start over with dinner a bath with fresh towels and please let me turn down your bed madame!
Where’s the part where she goes home and I lay on the couch eating El Pollo Loco and watching crap tv for a couple of days while I unwind from the constant activity until I start to miss her and we plan for her next trip?
On the upside, if you’re going to have a permanent guest, mine is pretty good company. What out of town guest wants to spend a half hour just dancing around the living room to my new Dixie Chicks CD? And what couch loafter would think it’s funny when I put my face right up to their face and make a crazy noise, over and over and over? Plus the fact that she’s pretty damn cute. Now if I could just find her a little baby Norplant.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on August 22, 2006 10:28 pm
So Wednesday night I did a bit of stand-up comedy at the Improv in Hollywood. I have to say that at a certain point it begins to feel kind of pathetic to still be performing. I would never identify myself as a comedian and I’m almost embarrassed if people ask if I still do it and I have to say, “yeah, once in awhile.” You see, stand-up comedians are a fucked up bunch and I don’t like to group myself in with them although I do continue to tell jokes. And also, let’s be honest, most comics are just not that funny. But even if a comic is funny it’s difficult to find your crowd cause think about it; when you go out to see a random night of stand-up you may be expecting Carrot Top or a midget juggler (always a hit) and end up with Patton Oswalt and think to yourself, “what the hell? This guy ain’t no Top that’s for damn sure.” Let me tell you, a lot of times those are the crowds. Drunk frat guys coming out to the Improv just drooling at the thought of a Dane Cook sighting. Dane Cook? Not that funny.
Years ago I realized I’d never be famous as a comic. And nor did I want to be. It’s a tough life and in my opinion doesn’t lead to anything good. Once I did a gig in Palm Springs where the condo the club owner put us up in was crawling with ants and there was pubic hair in the sheets on the bed. Yeah, Hotel Sofital it wasn’t. It was around that time I decided that maybe there wasn’t a future in this line of work. But what cinched the decision was the last club I worked. I had to drive to San Jose to work a club called The Funny Bone. This was one of those chains that had a decent rep and I felt lucky to get booked there. I drove all the way up state from Los Angeles (approx. 8 hour drive) and settled myself into the condo to watch a Real World marathon before the shows that night. Only about 20 people were seated for the first show but I didn’t worry too much since it was a Tuesday night. But the next day, after going to the local movie theatre to see Barcelona the sequel to Metropolitan. When I got back, there was a Pay or Quit sign on the condo door. The notice went on to say that if the money wasn’t delivered in 24 hours, locks would be placed on the door. I decided then and there I would be asking for cash payment at the end of the week. If the gig lasted that long.
By Thursday the power in the club was shut off and I would’ve gone home at that point but the owner swore it would be back on in time for the weekend shows. Friday night someone in the audience yelled out, “I hope you get cancer.” And that was after one of my funniest jokes. Okay, you get the picture.
On the last night, I was relieved the gig was over, happy that I wasn’t locked out of the condo and eager to go home. I just needed to get paid. I walked into the owner’s office to ask for my pay and was handed a check. I meekly asked if I could get paid in cash and the owner looked at me like I asked him for a kidney. “No, I couldn’t possibly give you cash. We didn’t have a good week.” Of course, right there I should’ve known that he was foreshadowning NO MONEY but I stood my ground. Finally, he agreed to give me half in check and half in cash. He also shorted me fifty dollars which I argued about for all of six minutes before realizing the futility of it.
You probably already guessed the rest. The check bounced and after six months of trying to get my money, I gave up. And pretty much gave up on the road.
I never looked back but sometimes I do want to tell jokes just for the sake of telling jokes. There’s just too much politics that come with it. So for now, I’ll blog where no one can make me bring ten people or give me the light after 10 minutes. And I can say fuck as much as I want to.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on August 20, 2006 3:15 am
I’ve been having serious bloggers block lately and, yes, it has to do with my stalker but also just a shift in attitude. I guess that comes with the territory. First of all, don’t you hate it when a friend leaves you a message on your voice mail that goes something like this, “Hey, I’ve got some crazy news! Call me back.” It’s like, hey not cool! If you have crazy gossip either don’t leave a message at all or say what the fuck it is! Am I right? So I don’t want to be that person and in my last post I said that my blog was being monitored. Although I probably shouldn’t say exactly what’s up, I will let you in as much as I can.
There is a lawsuit going on where I am a witness. It has to do with a woman who is suing someone who I have information about. I came forward to testify (I know this sounds very Law & Order, one of my all time favorite shows, but it’s not)as a witness. Well, things got ugly real fast and apparently, the other law firm decided that my blog would somehow prove that I don’t tell the truth or something like that. So my blog was presenting in the deposition in the hope that it will somehow discredit me as a witness. One of the posts that the lawyer for the defense brought up was a meme where I said that I don’t change my underwear everyday. Of course any mom worth her salt can attest to the fact that underwear changing would mean taking a shower and who does that everyday? No one I know. I’m not sure I did that even before I had a baby. But I digress. I suppose it feels weird to know that a law clerk is reading every entry hoping to find some nugget of I don’t know what that can be used against me. But fuck it. This is my truth with some humor mixed in. Funny enough, the law clerk told me that her sister is a new mom and she turned her on to my blog and now her sister reads it. Yeah, she didn’t say it in front of her boss but she did say it. I like that.
Here’s the thing; the person who is suing I believe is right and I feel it’s my duty to come forward and tell my story. Anyone who has had something bad happen to them would want another victim to come out and say it. Of course, this is Hollywood so that doesn’t come true as often as people would like. Hollywood is gross and I’m not proud that I’m a part of it. I’d love to live in another city and be involved in another industry but it just doesn’t seem to be an option at this point so I must soldier on and keep doing what I do. Now that this is off my chest, what I do is blog and I intend to keep doing it.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on August 11, 2006 4:08 am
So my delicate little flower has the croup. No, not my vagina, my daughter. Up until now, I was hardly croup savvy. In fact the only knowledge I had about it was from seeing Debra Winger struggle through it in Terms of Endearment. Remember Debra grabbing the baby and sitting in the steamy bathroom all night trying to get him to stop coughing? And then after all that her husband goes and screws someone else? And then she DIES? But I digress. Doesn’t it seem just from the name that croup would’ve gone out with Little House on the Prairie? I mean, it’s called THE croup. It just sounds so old fashioned and unhip to get a virus the has a “the” in front of it at this point. But, that’s what she got as far as I could tell from the seal barking cough that came on like a freight train by night and was hardly noticable by day.
I sort of thought that some good old Triaminic for kids would be acceptable but when I called the pediatrician to check it out I was told to come in to the office. So I presented my child the same day and was sent home with a prescription for a steroid. Here’s the problem: the steroid apparently has a little known side effect of causing a baby to completely hype the fuck out! Or maybe it’s well known but the on-call doc at the office “forgot” to tell me. E was bouncing off the walls and didn’t sleep a wink all day. Exactly what you want a sick child to be doing – not sleeping. So I called the doc and let them know the sitch and she told me to skip the evening dose. Really? I would’ve thought that giving the baby a speedy drug would be the perfect nightcap. I did indeed skip it and I’ve skipped it every night since.
I will say that that’s not the reason I haven’t been blogging as often. I will share that reason with everyone who reads this in depth very soon. It’s nothing too bad. Let’s just say that my blog is being monitored…oooh….spooky.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on August 5, 2006 8:54 pm