Snarky Gets Cranky

Today has not been a good day.  Usually I would self medicate with chocolate, but because I spent the better part of my weekend at a water-park I feel I must say no to brownies.  I would also, at this time, like to offer my sincerest and heartfelt apologies to anyone who was in visual range of me in a swimsuit at Ocra’s World of Waves.  My substitute today for chocolate will be excessive ranting.  Because I’m home alone and have no one to share my bad temper with you, special friend, will get to experience Extreme Cranky Turbo Edition.

Here are some selected things I’m currently cranky about:

Super Models/Actresses Who Have Just Had Babies: We all get it you’re thin all the time. When your 39 weeks pregnant you wear a size 4.  Two days after giving birth you’re back to size minus zero and posing on a red carpet somewhere in a skin-tight mini dress extolling your love and devotion to your newborn with Access Hollywood. At two weeks post partum you’re in a bikini at the Victoria Secret Fashion Show.  We don’t hate you because your beautiful.  We hate you because your eternally thin and apparently an alien life-form.  Plus, you have bad, bad, manners. First, the alien part.  What human who has just given birth 48 hours earlier is able to go out in public in a form-fitting mini dress?  Because all the female life forms I know are leaking a combo platter of various bodily fluids from every orifice.   I’m talking forget about the overnight maxi I’ll take the Swiffer Wet Jet pad. One for my lower regions and one to duct tape inside my nursing bra.  I don’t know why they’re called milk ducts when they should be called dairy geysers – the 8th Natural Wonder of World.  Then the bikini 14 days after delivery – further proof of you alien status.  Hmm, let’s see a show of hands of women who would want to experience a full bikini wax 13 days after the wonder of childbirth.  Yes indeed, I’d love to take off my Swiffer Wet Jet pad, get naked from the waist down (again) and lay on a table (again), have someone rip hot wax off my delicate, recently traumatized lady parts and then suck in my layers of pregnancy gut and using a spatula fold myself into a bikini and stilettos. Fun, fun, fun!  No human could or would do this to themselves proving my theory that Super Models are not of this world and perhaps should be required to “show their papers” if ever on a photo shoot in Arizona

Onward to the bad manners part: Let me, right off the top, offer my services for teaching an etiquette class to all Super Models.  Maybe we could meet at a Learning Annex or better yet, at a suite in the Beverly Hills Four Seasons.  My class syllabus would include items such as: Please no over-sharing about your fabulous life.  Just for fun date someone who is not a professional athlete or actor/singer and let’s all admit it right now that you can’t be six feet tall, weigh 100 pounds and have amazing organic breasts.  It is against all dictates of medical science.   My class topic for today is when you’ve just delivered a baby (and Giselle Bundchen Brady, I’m talking to you here) do not give interviews saying you gained only five pounds during your entire pregnancy, have lost an additional 10 pounds after giving birth and are at your all time lowest weight since you were discovered by a modeling agency on the beaches of Brazil at age 14.   Also, do not describe your birth experience as pain-free and beautiful or that all you had to do to deliver your baby is a brief mat pillates routine accompanied by an elegant squat thrust and volia – the baby slithers out of your body as if were a Chanel silk scarf.   This kind of talk demonstrates exceedingly bad manners.  What you should say, Super Models, is this: I suffered horribly through my entire pregnancy, unable to gain any weight due to my mental health issues related to severe body dysmorphic disorder.  The birth of the baby was a pre-planned secret C-section immediately followed by  plastic surgery that included, but was not limited to, a breast lift, tummy tuck and lip-o-suction.   That statement will gain you the cover of People Magazine and the love of women everywhere.

While I’m on the topic of pregnancy my next rant is aimed at Fathers Who Suffer Postpartum Depression.  Apparently, a new study has revealed that 1 in 10 fathers become depressed after the birth of their child.  You know what I say to that – shut up because no one cares.  The reason men are depressed is because the baby usurps their position of being the center of the known universe. Their wife is actually having to take care of another human being besides them.  Their husband and father role now requires them to do something for their wife and baby.  For many men this is a brave new world.  They must now cook, clean, go to the store and God forbid get their own dry cleaning.  Of course they’re depressed.  Here’s my advice to all you post partum depressed dads: Cowboy Up!  My course of medical treatment is for all p.p.d dads is to go to the diaper aisle at Costco and have new sleep deprived, Swiffer Wet Jet pad wearing moms ram you repeatedly with industrial strength shopping carts.  You won’t feel any better, but the moms sure will.

Allure magazine has created a stir by featuring naked celebrities in a recent edition.  Naked actresses you say – what’s the big deal?  The big deal is that Allure says the actresses naked form was not air brushed or otherwise messed with in the post production phase of the shoot.   So in the pages of the magazine what you see is the unvarnished truth – kind of.  The celebrities are discreetly covering up their primary parts and although the magazine may not be admitting to airbrushing there is a lot you can do with lighting and more importantly creating shadows.   My rant is not based on nude actresses, I don’t care.  My rant is a two parter.  Part one: “the liar, liar pants on fire” celebrity statement.  One butt naked actress confesses to simply cutting back on salt before her photo shoot.  Another was eating a candy bar right before the cameras started clicking and one had the hubris to announce that she was carrying some “extra weight” but liked how it made her look.   Really?  Because I’m guessing that all of these ladies have been working out about 4 hours a day for 4 months and subsisting on nothing but celery, protein shakes and diuretics right up until they took off their robes.  They all need to attend my Super Model etiquette class which has just been expanded to include all female celebrities.

Part two of my rant is directed at The View: In my defense I was watching it one morning while ironing an outfit I was going to put on to attend a lunch meeting.  Here on daytime television’s finest hour the View crew was praising these nude celebrities for their “bravery” in taking it all off without the benefit of airbrushing.  Yes, they actually called their fellow celebrities brave.  It made me wish I could take my iron and brand Elizabeth Hasselback’s forehead with it.  Brave?  Getting naked to promote your career and having the best make-up artists, lighting director and photographer in the country take your picture is not brave.  Brave are the women in the Mid-East sacrificing home and hearth for their country.  Brave is the mother of four trying to beat cancer so she can see her eldest graduate high school.  That’s brave.  Having your picture taken – not so much.

My last rant is aimed at Parent Magazine and all the magazine editors currently residing in New York City.  Last week, I was sitting in the dentist’s office waiting while one of my children had the tartar chiseled off their teeth and passing the time by reading Parent Magazine.  It was another article written by a super stylish mom living in NYC and raising a family with the benefit of a full-time nanny.  I’m thinking it’s like if Carrie Bradshaw had a baby.  Well, the article is full of the trial and tribulations of the mom having to, gasp, fly on a plane with her three children from New York to Florida without her nanny.  Her baby got sick on the plane, throwing up etc and the mom was beside herself about what to do.  Here’s my rant: I’m tired of reading books, magazines etc authored by moms that live in New York who try to pass themselves off as just like ”us”.  You are not like us because unlike you -”us” can not only fly on a plane with our children without the benefit of a nanny “us” could also probably take out a shoe and/or underwear bomber and serve beverages during turbulence without spilling a drop.  “Us” are professional mothers ( A coaltion of working moms, stay-at-home moms etc who can kick it old school when it comes to parenting – i.e. fly nanny free.) – “you” are rank amateurs.  “Us” professional mothers know that to journey into the airport with your children in tow requires the organizational skills akin to planning D-day.  “Us” Professional mothers would have had packed in a handy, non-designer carry-on bag enough medicine, clothes, snacks and entertainment to last not only the scheduled flight time, but we would have also taken into account any unforeseen weather, mechanical, volcanic or air carrier issues and planned accordingly.  In other words, we wouldn’t be on a plane with a vomiting infant without triage supplies and an all in one bib to catch not only the projectile vomit but seal it in an air tight container as to not offend the olfactory senses of the other passengers.  That’s the way “us” professional mothers roll.  So, all you Sex and the City mom’s back off.  Sure, keep on writing about motherhood, but don’t pretend we live in the same world.  In my world, I can kick your couture clad denim butt with my Nike factory outlet sneakers.

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