Unconditional love

The other day, Violet pulled open my bathrobe, saw my sad boob and said "Ohhhh!" with delight and amazement. That is unconditional love right there. I love this little hell child.

I have a few hang-ups, one of which are my boobs (should that be two of which?). Obviously, since they have been mentioned in 89.6 percent of my blog posts. I think girls understand. Boys, imagine that your wonderfully large, tree trunk of a penis shriveled up one day, to become a bent twig. You.Would.Freak.Out. And you would think about your penis a lot. "Why did it shrivel? If I eat more, will it grow again? Or will my body just get fat, making my penis look even smaller?"

I know I have mentioned "penis" in 67 percent of my blog posts, but I have no particular issue with penii. I think evolutionarily speaking, the penis should have developed into a less fragile and less swingy thing, and it should really be contained inside the body or an orifice for better protection (such as our internal organs, our eyeballs, eardrums, etc.) but that's it. I swear, I don't actually think about penii ever, unless I am blogging. That is the only time it springs to mind. Blogging is making me a pervert.

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Location:Your butthole

Mom Friends II

I decided that I have to make more of an effort to make mom friends.  They were not going to come up to me, so I would initiate.

OK!  I told this dad who has this tiny little girl, "her feet are so cute!".  The girl is 15 months or a little older, but she is very petite and has feet the size of a 6 month old.  She basically looks like a walking 6 month old.  The dad said, "yeah, thanks!" and we went onto have a conversation about baby shoes, how expensive they are, and how there must be a black market for used baby shoes that we have been excluded from (his idea, not mine).  I gave myself a pat on the back and two gold stars.

But it ended there.  He and his impossibly tiny daughter left the sandbox and went to laugh casually with the other adults ("ha-ha-ha! Oh Roger, you are so funny"), while I sat with my outcast, sand-throwing daughter.

What went wrong?

Maybe I weirded them out by staring too much.  Would you be creeped out by the sight of this young woman, intently focused on you, day after day?

I was going for friendly.  "Come talk to me.  Come on.  I'm not a psycho killer.  We can share some of my daughter's snacks.  She's too little to fight us.  Come over here."  No?

Maybe they can sense that I am being fake.  Maybe I should have said, "Hey, have you asked a pediatrician why your daughter's feet are small?  Are you sure that is not a medical problem?  There is a reason why there is no black market for used baby shoes.  Have you seen used baby shoes?  They look like a dog chewed on them and got shoved up someone's butt."  Then we could have become best friends forever.  Me + Roger 4eva.

I want to grow boobies

I was getting dressed and she pretty clearly said, "Mommy, I want to wear a sports bra too."

I am Asian, so I was flat until I began taking the pill in college.

Tangent: whenever my friends started taking the pill, their boobs exploded. I haven't googled this, but I'm sure that it's the extra estrogen, tiny knives or whatever is in the pill that makes this happen. I am surprised that that is not listed as one of the side effects: "Caution. Taking this medication may increase your breast size by a cup or more. On the other hand, you will become very popular with the boys, and t-shirts will look hot on you."

I gained weight (double digits) at work because it was hard to cry if I was chewing. Then I had a baby and for 4 months I looked like a really fat Playboy model. And then my boobs got depressed, and they remain so to this present day. Taking the pill now does nothing, because my body is old. They still look like little frowny faces.

Anyhoo, I remember insisting to my mom when I was 11 or 12 ish that I HAD to get a training bra. My friends were white, and they all had things to put in their training bras. So we went to some store, and I picked mine out. It looked like a bra, but it was thinner than underwear, and the cups were flat triangles. Perfect!

It's very unfair to have to wear the mark of your puberty on your chest, so that every boy in your grade can see for himself if you are developing. Thanks, God, for that. In 4th grade, I once decided to feel my chest from over my t-shirt to see if I could feel any bumps. Unfortunately the whim struck me in the middle of class, and Joel R. with the blood clot in his eye saw me and sang "you were feeling yourself up!" while pointing every fucking time he saw me, and each time I had to lie and yell back, "no I wasn't!".

"you were feeling yourself up!"
"no I wasn't!"
"you were feeling yourself up!"
"no I wasn't!"
"you were feeling yourself up!"
"no I wasn't!"

All 4th graders know that silence is tacit agreement, so I had to respond every single time. Dick.

It would be different if boys also had to wear their parts on their chest. Then the girls could compare whose nads are bigger. And the girls would whisper about the best way to undo a penis cup with one hand, stare at the boys' penis cups and totally ignore their faces and hoot while outlining the shape of a large penis with their hands as the boys scurried away. And then the same man who invented the booby jail would have invented man-bras for men that would go on their penii. And then people in the 50s would have invented penis cup shapes that bore no resemblance to their body parts, like square cups, but were considered more visually appealing. And then people in the 80s would catch onto the fact that a lot of men were stuffing their cups with tissues and socks, and they would have invented padded and push-up penis cups, to enhance men's manhoods. And then people would come up penis cups that swooped lower, to show more penis, and then make cut outs in the fabric, which made no functional sense but was supposed to be alluring because you could see more penis.

Then I could tell Joel R. that his nads were so, so small, and life would be fair.



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Beds are for weenies

Lately I have not been able to get to sleep at night. Maybe it's because I want to watch three episodes of the Sopranos back to back but I don't sleep until past 1 or 2 am and have to get up at 7. 6 hours is just not doing it for me anymore.

I was at my parents' house today and I was feeling a little tired. I kneeled down in front of an ottoman in the living room and laid my torso and head on it.

I woke up an hour later with my arms and legs hanging off the ottoman and my face in a pool of drool, and my dad in the room watching tv.  Thanks, dad.  Why would I want someone to wake me up and lead me to a bed or sofa, when I can rest on this tiny, luxurious ottoman?

 

The demise of print

Newsweek magazine is ending their print publication and going completely online.

This was the one news source that I read regularly in high school, because my mom said I had to if I wanted to go to an Ivy League college. It was pretty good and I liked the pictures.

Recently I picked up an issue that was sitting on my parents' kitchen table, and the thing had shrunken to the size of a pamphlet. It was like meeting Ryan Gosling (who is medium-hot) and he opened up his pants to show you his small, flaccid penis. It was that sad.

I know some people have issues with newspapers and magazines going online, but have you tried to read the print edition of the NY Times? I would only buy it if it came with a free arm. Sorry but I don't want to carry 10 lbs of recycling, most of which I am not planning to read anyway.

Going online is the way to go. It's a more efficient and less costly way of distributing content. People can "share" and "like" things. Your fingers are not stained black and you will never have a "eat Cheetos or read the paper" dilemma again.

So, in conclusion, putting your content online avoids the problem of small, flaccid penis. I think I summarized that right.

** Edited to add a picture, because pictures make everything better:

                             "Please, honey, it can get this big when I want it to."

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Freshness

There are many perqs to being a stay at home mom (although not as many as you think). One of the biggest is being able to spend a significant part of the day without any pants on. In fact I am not wearing any pants right now. It feels fantastic and I encourage everyone to drop their pants at some point during the day. (Note: you probably don't want to do this if you are cooking or standing in front of a window. Unless you are an advanced no-pants-wearer like me.)


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Internet search history

Have you ever looked at your internet search history? Whoever you are, you end up looking stupid or perverted or both. Here are some of my recent searches (I'm not going to list all of them because my searches on how often the average person farts and whether a person can fart too much is private). I am more stupid than perv:


"tiny red bumps on baby armpit" (question--does anyone know what this might be? internet was unhelpful in this regard)

"not getting any interviews" (also, I'm looking for a job)

"what is complex litigation" (if I have to ask this question, maybe this is why I'm not getting any interviews)

"how to replace batteries in sleep sheep"

"can't remove battery cover from sleep sheep" (both of our sleep sheeps are totally effed. sorry V)

"play bloop sound"

"what are binders on women"

"how much should a baby eat" (you would hope that I would know this by now)

"joseph gordon-levitt"

"alex trebek life insurance"

Every time I see an older dog

I think about how sad its owner will be when the dog dies. I can't help it. I saw a Jindo at the park, and the owner said he was 10 years old. And I just smiled but it was like the dog and I looked at each other and we both knew that he was going to die soon, but the owner had no idea and when it happened it would hit him like a brick.

After Nikklibikkly died, I was so very sad. I realized that dogs have a pretty short life, compared to, you know, humans. She died at 10 years, and since the way you feel at 20 is pretty much the same as you feel at 30, it felt like her life passed in an instant. But at least I was already an adult. If you get a dog as a 5 year old, the dog will die before the kid goes to college. Poor kid. Better loved than lost or whatever that saying is, by Shakespeare or maybe it's Hallmark, but if I ever got another dog I think I would just look at her face everyday and think "one more day closer to death".

Yes, this is morbid. Time to read Abe Lincoln, Vampire Slayer and go to sleep.


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Mom Friends

I was really psyched to finally be done with school, if only because it meant that I didn't have to be worried about finding friends, wondering if I had any friends, who I was going to eat lunch with ACK!

I was never good at making friends. I was always very shy. Nowadays, it comes off as me just being a bitch, but I really had no other desire than to disappear when I was in a room full of people when I was little. I never had some huge traumatic event where some girl screamed NO I AM NOT YOUR FRIEND at me. I was just that way.

I can't remember an instance in which I went out and made a friend. Mostly people came and made friends with me. This happened in second grade, when I moved to a new school when three girls came to dance in front of me so that I wouldn't cry, in ninth grade, when two gangsta bitch looking girls came up to me and asked me if I wanted to be gangsta bitch looking too, in tenth grade when my parents abruptly put me in a new school because of said gangsta bitches and people were enthralled by my pants which were the ones my dad used to wear in the 70s, and in college when I reunited with my debaucherous friends from the previous summer.

I realized today that the friend-making is not over. At the playground, there are always little groups of women, and a few men. Some are nannies, and some are parents. They chat together and laugh and compliment each other on their children. I must have missed the orientation. I can't figure out if they were friends and that is why they came to the playground together, or if they met on the playground and are now friends. I have conversed briefly with a few parents ("I'm sorry that my daughter threw sand in your kid's eye") but nothing consistent. I am starting to get that I-might-have-to-eat-lunch-by-myself feeling. I may have to break out my dad's pants again.

Unibrow

I haven't posted in forever, but I was so PO'ed today I have to get it out.

There are a number of little playgrounds in Riverside Park, called "tot lots". We go to one on 110th. Little kids run about, play in the sand box, pick their nose, whatever. V has a little shopping cart that she pushes around sometimes.




When she goes in the sand box, other tiny humans commandeer it and totter around the playground. That is fine with me--we just take it back when we have to go home.

Today, a little girl was zooming around with it. I see her opening the gate to the playground and exiting, and her dad following behind to bring her back inside. I turn back to V and watch her pour sand on her own head like a little genius, and then look back to the cart, and I don't see it.

I crane my head and I see the little girl, pushing it outside of the playground along the sidewalk, where people walk and bikers bike. It also leads out onto the streets. Her dad is following her. Ok... I wait for them to bring the cart back.

They don't. They just keep walking. They get 4 blocks or so away, and I am starting to wonder if fat unibrow girl and her crappy dad are just going home with my fucking cart. I can barely see them, so I dragged V out of the sandbox, hoisted her under my arm, and started walking towards them. When we got 10 feet away, they turned around and started back towards me. I went up the dad and said in my best bitchy voice:

"That's our cart."

He said, "Oh we're just bringing it back.'

I said, "Please don't take it out of the playground."

He said, "Oh of course!"

I said, "Well if that is so obvious, why the fuck are you out here outside of the playground?" Well I didn't say it, but I thought it really loud, and pivoted on my heel and told Violet loudly that they were "so rude!"

On our way home I clicked some of the buttons on the cart and all I got back was a hacky death rattle. Unibrow had dumped sand into the crevices in the cart, disabling its delightful melody functions. Hey Unibrow! Does this cart look like a sandbox to you, stupid?

Now I'm going to go try to fix the damn cart, which I will no longer be bringing to the playground for others to play with. See how some dumb, fat kids ruin things for everyone?

Also, Crappy Dad, your daughter was walking around the park with no shoes or socks on. It was 50 degrees and this is New York City, ok? She could have stepped on a condom or dog shit.

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