Archive for April, 2008


Send lawyers, guns and money


In case you haven’t been called yet — and I apologize if you haven’t … My list of people to call about this is massive.

On May 19 I start the next phase of my life. I’ve taken a job as the features editor at a major metro daily in Washington, D.C.

It’s a huge move up for me. That doesn’t mean I’m not very, very sad to leave my friends and family here. Some of my friends are being amazing. Some are being OK. Some are being downright awful.

But it was time to go. It was time to make this move. And when opportunity showed up in front of me, I had to take it. I absolutely had to take this chance.

So, I don’t know how much I’ll update — a good bit until the Mayflower truck shows up. But I wanted to get this out here and on the table.

And anybody got any tape? I’m gonna need some boxes. And tape. And a cat carrier or two. Those cats are gonna be pissssssssssed.


Treat from the road

On the road. All is well. 🙂

A very long, but very, very wonderful day. More later in a live report.


Today’s hero


You know that guy, right?

Yeah, that one. The one who’s always on his Bluetooth. The one who wears that blinky blue piece of plastic affixed to the side of his head 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

We have one in our office. My ex-husband was one.

I hate them in the grocery store because I’m naturally outgoing and if I hear someone beside me, with no visible clue that they’re ON THE PHONE, say “What’s up?”, I”ll respond.


I found this on today and loved it. It made me happy.

Get that thing out of your ear, willya?

It’s long, but I found it worth it. Because we all know THAT guy. I hate THAT guy.


I’m on an 11.


My supreme inspiration Glenn Beck once said:

“It’s days like today where there’s JUST not enough duct tape in the world to hold the pieces of my head together.”

Today was the day I worried about yesterday. And it’s less than three hours old.




We interrupt this regularly scheduled broadcast for a programming change …

I should be back Tuesday night. Maybe Wednesday.

I’m achieving.


I … am … PISSED.

I was scanning some stories this morning at work, and I came across this one from Newsweek.

Mommy 2.0: A new picture book about plastic surgery aims to explain why mom is getting a flatter tummy and a ‘prettier’ nose.

Jesus. Tapdancing. Christ.

I found myself so angry about this, my face got hot. That’s how I know I’m real good and pissed.

Here’s the first paragraph:

When she was pregnant with her son Junior, who turns nine this month, Gabriela Acosta ballooned from 115 pounds to 196. Acosta lost the weight but wound up with stretched, saggy skin. Even her son noticed it. He told her that her stomach looked “pruney,” the result, he thought, of staying in the shower too long. So the 29-year-old stay-at-home mom scheduled a consultation with Dr. Michael Salzhauer, a board-certified plastic surgeon in Bal Harbour, Fla.

Let’s break this down, shall we?

1. No, I’m not jealous. So before anybody tries to play that card, put it away. I could afford to finance all of the plastic surgery I could ever want.

2. This woman gained EIGHTY-ONE POUNDS during pregnancy. Average, healthy weight gain during pregnancy is 25 to 30 pounds. Here’s a thought — should you choose to pollute the gene pool by getting pregnant again, how about you NOT eat for two with your gallons of Ben and Jerry’s. You gained a fucking eight-year-old during pregnancy. I can’t think of a single acceptable excuse as to why.

3. How about you teach your kid some manners? If your kid is old enough to use the word “pruney” in the proper context, he’s old enough to keep his trap shut.

4. Is your self-esteem that low that something your child says to you drives you to a plastic surgeon?

5. Don’t you have a husband at home (I mean, it says you’re a stay-at-home mom) who can make you feel better about yourself? God knows my figure’s FAR from perfect and I bear the scars of someone who used to be pretty morbidly obese, but I’m never, ever made to feel less than beautiful and perfect.

… Sigh. Moving on. Here’s an image from the book. Note that it says mommy’s new nose isn’t different, it’s just prettier(!!!).


Acosta says her son actually spoke up about it at a big party. “Did you see her new belly button? It’s so pretty!” he said of his mom. “I think he was proud,” she says.

Thanks, Mom. Thanks for putting another shallow, image-obsessed person out into the world. Well played, ma’am. ‘Cause God knows Mom was worthless before with her weird belly button. God. The shame.

Salzhauer got the idea for a book after noticing that women were coming into his office with their kids in tow. He says that mysterious doctor’s visits can be frightening for children.

I’ll take “Shitty Parenting” for $500, Alex. Really — if you can afford to go to the plastic surgeon, I’m sure you’ve got enough money to leave Snowflake with a sitter. Hell, you probably have a nanny.

“Parents generally tend to go into this denial thing. They just try to ignore the kids’ questions completely.” But, he adds, children “fill in the blanks in their imagination” and then feel worse when they see “mommy with bandages,” he says. “With the tummy tucks, [the mothers] can’t lift anything. They’re in bed. The kids have questions.”

That’s some good responsible parenting right there. You scare the living shit out of your kid for the sake of being able to wear your Chanel track suit without a muffin top. It’s also handy that you can’t lift anything. Better hope that’s not the day Snowflake decides to learn home pet surgery or how to juggle knives.

Child psychiatrist Elizabeth Berger, author of “Raising Kids With Character,” likes the idea of a book for kids. “If the mother is determined to pursue cosmetic surgery, I think it’s terribly important to discuss it with the child,” Berger says. But she says the book is incomplete. She wishes that the mom had just said something like, “This is silly, but I really want it anyway,” she says. “That is more honest and more helpful to the child.”

DING DING DING!! She wishes that the mom had just said “this is silly, but I want it anyway.” Yes. Just level with Snowflake. Make sure Snowflake knows how shallow you really are. Make sure Snowflake knows your life was miserable because you have scars from bringing him into this world.

After considering how their children might react, she says that “some mothers may realize that the total burden of the child’s anxiety might be a side effect of the procedure they hadn’t quite thought through and that might inspire them to postpone it until the child is older.”

You want the Vegas odds on that? Nope. I’m guessing these women really don’t care about how their children feel. These women, likely in most matters, are champions in the world of “me first.”

Then there are the body image issues raised by cosmetic surgery—especially for daughters. Berger worries that kids will think their own body parts must need “fixing” too. The surgery on a nose, for example, may “convey to the child that the child’s nose, which always seemed OK, might be perceived by Mommy or by somebody as unacceptable,” she says.

Money shot! DING!!

Salzhauer knows that not everyone will like his book. “There’s a good percentage of your readers who are dead set against plastic surgery, who see it as a sign of the decadence of Western civilization,” he says. “But when done by a properly trained board-certified plastic surgeon, it really does help make lives better.”

Note to my female readers: Your life got you down? New boobs. The answer is in new boobs.

I need to go smoke now. I don’t smoke. But this might be enough to get me to start. It’s smoke or break something. Smoking seems a more sensible option.


11:23 a.m.: All talk

At your desk, on your couch, in your car (if your state won’t arrest you for it) …


Today’s group activity is brought to you by my phone and by a friend of mine who called at 11:22.

Besides, I like the phone. When it rings, it plays “Welcome to Paradise” by Green Day.

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April 2008
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