Snarky Writes a Book

snarkburbsIt almost killed me – I’m talking worse than an epidural that stopped working midway through labor – but I finally finished my book! You may think writing the book was the hard part, but NO, it was correcting all the grammar (Dear comma, I hate you.), spelling and spacing errors. I always thought I was a little bit of an idiot based on hard data like my SAT scores and college GPA, but after sending chapters of my book out to be proofed and re-proofed by “Team Snarky” it was confirmed, that, I am indeed, a moron. Almost as bad was formatting the text for Amazon. Hey CIA, forget waterboarding as a form of torture. Here’s what you should do to get a confession from a terrorist – make them take a 200 plus page document and try to squeeze it on an Amazon templet. Sweet mother of God, it was horrible. Every time I tried to fix an indentation or a spacing issue it would mess something else up. You know you’ve cried a lot when your Diet Coke taste salty. Then, when I think I’ve gotten everything just perfect I go to my son’s, much better computer, (Because, of course, my children have superior technology. Raise your hand if you have the crappiest phone in your family.) to do a final lookie loo and his grammar check thing finds MORE errors. At this point I had to take a mental health break. I got in my car, turned on the soothing butt heat, ate almost half of tin of Christmas cookies (a neighbor had brought over) and drove to Target.

Finally, I get the digital version good to go and start on the paperback. I get all the files uploaded and Amazon shoots out a price of what it will cost to print the 6 x 9 paperback. FIFTEEN DOLLARS!  Are you kidding me! Sure, the book is 60,000 words, but $15? I thought I might stroke out and yelled for my son to bring the blood pressure monitor my in-laws had left behind during their last visit. He came over to my computer, gave me one of those superior looks that teenagers save just for their mothers, and said, “Just shrink the font size” in a voice that said, “God, why is my mother such a loser?”

Shrink away I did. I went as low as a 6 point, but I figured no one over the age of 22 would have good enough eye-sight to read it. I settled on 10 point font and played with the margins. It was all about saving paper to get the price down. The lowest I could get  it to is $11.95 and I’m still not happy about.

Here is some stuff you need to know about the book. First, it is fiction. Did some of this stuff happen? Yes. Do I want to get sued? No. I had to do one of those Law and Order-ish disclaimers in the front of the book. Longtime blog readers will also notice some character description changes (specifically Jacardia). Once again, done for the whole fear of legal action thing. Secondly, IT IS a book. It is not a collection of my blogs shoved into a book. Would I do that to you? No, I would not. When you start reading the book you might say to yourself, “Crap, I’ve seen this before.” Well, keep reading because in the first chapter I use the PTA Mom Coffee that I’ve already written about to set up the book – BUT there are changes in it and new characters introduced.  Say hello to Croc Mom, Heather and Jasper. Some characters, you love to hate like my odious neighbor Barbara Gray are not in this book. (If all goes well you’ll see Barbara in another book slated for late summer.)

Here’s a little teaser for Snarky in the Suburbs – Back to School.

The Spring Creek Elementary School PTA board (a coven of Mean Moms dressed in Uggs, yoga pants, and dermal filler) is up to no good.  Wynn Butler (middle-aged, uncool, and not bringing sexy back) is determined to find out what’s going on. With help from her two kids, a Roomba vacuum turned mobile surveillance drone, and a few good friends, Wynn launches a covert investigation that leads to the “mother of all revenge capers” at the school’s annual Fall Festival.

 If you’ve ever fantasized about smoke bombing the idiot parent who has yet to master the fine art of the school drop-off lane, or standing up and shouting, “Liar, liar, Botox on fire” during a PTA meeting, then this delicious tale of payback is for you.

 What I’m asking you to do right now is go to Amazon and buy the book. Due to a survey I did on my blog the consensus was to set the digital price at $4.99. (I was thinking $3.99, but was overruled.) The paperback version, I think, will take a couple of days before you can order it. Amazon has set the price at $11.95 (sorry). For those of who with Nooks – Barnes & Noble takes six freaking weeks before they will have it for the Nook. If you have an iPhone you can get the app Kindle for iPhone for free and read Snarky on your phone. (Just google “Kindle for iPhone.)

But wait there’s more – I need a favor(s). If you would be so kind after reading the book to go on Amazon and write a review AND spread the word however you can about the book. I know this is asking a lot. Please note that I value and so respect your intelligence and time, that I have never begged you to go vote for my blog in some “funny mom” blog contest or any other such inane pursuits. I’m now abandoning that restraint and shamelessly asking you to go plug my book.

I started writing Snarky as a way to complain to someone other than my husband and ended up making lots of new friends! Thank you everyone for sharing your enthusiasm for Snarky, your own stories and your encouragement! It’s good to know, we are not alone and that yes, we are all in this parenting game (for better or worse) – together.

Team Snarky rules!

Hot Mom Problems

On occasion I like to open up my Snarky site to a guest blogger so they can share their thoughts.  I was approached last week by a woman who thought I was incredibly unkind to the much maligned minority group known as Hot  Moms.  I thought she had a valid point so today our guest blogger, who’s going by the name “Hotter Than You,” reveals the hotter the mom the bigger the hot mess.

Even Hot Moms have problems.  You think it’s easy being tan 24/7 365?  Let me tell you it’s so not.  A March spring break only complicates our lives. It means we have to go from being just yoga pant hot to swimsuit super hot practically overnight.  The hair removal issues alone require advanced strategic scheduling.  It’s not like you can just go in and have a head to toe wax job.  Any Hot Mom worth her silver glitter Uggs knows you have to wax in stages spread out over at least a week for maximum hair removal efficiency.  For those of you who don’t believe that anyone as gorgeous as me can possibly have any difficulties in her life – here’s my List of Hot Mom Problems (Spring Break Edition).

Vajazzle glue causes epic lady business rash.  OMG and WTF are salons all buying their vajazzle glue from China?!!  This is my 3rd crotch rash since last November.  Just stop right there, I know what you’re going to say, “Maybe it’s not the glue, maybe your allergic to vajazzling.”  About that – hell to the no.  It’s not me, it’s salons pretending to be high-end and probably using an Elmer’s Glue Stick or worse Gorilla Glue to get those crystals to stay put. This is what’s wrong with America – not $4 a gallon gas, unemployment or the freaking environment, but sub-standard salon service.  When, I ask you, is a presidential candidate going to man up and talk about that?  You’d think Romney with that big old Ken doll mane of hair would have addressed this quality of life issue.  Just imagine the arsenal of styling products he must use to keep that fullness, color and hair height looking so good everyday?  (Off topic kind of – Can you imagine being the wife of a presidential candidate?  There is not enough Zoloft  in the world to make me stand by my husband’s side every damn day and act fascinated with whatever he says.  God, it would be like dating all over again minus the alcohol.  Eww!)

Should I pre-oil or wait till I arrive at the pool?  This is a tough one.  You want to look your best when you make your pool-side debut which suggest that pre-oiling is the way to go.  This way your spray tan is super shiny and just shouts, “Hey look at me. I’m hot!”  But, if you pre-oil that robs you of the opportunity to immediately attract attention by dropping your swim bag, ignoring your children, grabbing your lotion, putting one leg up on a chaise lounge (or using a pool umbrella as an impromptu stripper pole) and begin massaging shiny goo all over yourself.  Is there anything sexier than me in a bikini, one leg propped up high on the back of a chair, my fake wonder breasts trying to escape out of my tiny triangle top, doing an application of sun tan oil super high on my inner thigh while my vajazz peeks out?  The short answer – Hell No! P.S.  Just to prove that Hot Moms are giving, kind people I’ll share with you this secret.  Pour some glitter into your suntan oil so you not only shimmer, but sparkle.  You’re welcome.

Navel piercing belly bling doesn’t match vajzzle crystals – Seriously people who run salons, how hard is it to keep a decent supply of coordinated crystal colors in stock. Like I want to put on a bikini and walk around the resort wearing mismatched crystals.  I want my body bling to tell a color story of supreme hotness not be a hideous Fashion No.

Should I be worried that the esthetician who does my waxing gets more “hands on” time “down there” than my husband? Could I be a more loving and concerned fourth wife to even think about this?  No, I could not.  This proves that I’m hot and I care. Which is the most awesome combination e-v-e-r!  I wouldn’t have even have thought about this except a group of us mega hotties were talking while waiting for our pilates reformer class (mat pilates sooo 24 Hour Fitness) to begin and the subject of sex came up and one beauty mentioned that she did the math and her hoo haa spent more time getting groomed than it did getting boom boomed. (If you now what I mean.)  Is that so wrong?  Is it our fault that hair really does grow overnight or that our husbands are obsessed with their i Pads?

Hair up or down?  Hot Moms want to wear their hair down at all times. It’s part of our by-laws and a big part of our sacred Hot Mom pledge.  Pretty much no matter what the circumstances or sports activity we like to have our hair flowing.  You really can’t even qualify to be a Hot Mom if you gave birth with bad hair.  Seriously, if you were a sweaty mess with your hair in some kind of scrunchie, pony tail hell while in labor then shame on you. I delivered heavily medicated (Don’t tell me you didn’t demand they top off your epidural?) in full make-up. (Waterproof foundation and mascara are key.)  My hair was freshly blown out and I had on some darling hoop earrings and a tasteful diamond necklace (An early push present.) I even had my husband apply some Channel Lip Plumper (I picked a muted pink color so it wouldn’t clash with the god awful blue/green hospital gown) right before the last push so I would look amazing for the delivery photos. If you think having a C-section is permission to look frumpy, think again.  Surgery is no excuse to slack off.  You take your just styled hair, gently fold it into the surgical cap thingy and ta da – after the C surg and combination tummy tuck (Really why waste perfectly good anesthesia?) you take that cap off, swing your hair a couple of times and you’re back in the game.

Wow, I totally got sidetracked.  What I’ve been trying to get to is the whole pool side Hot Mom hair issue.  Yes, you want to wear it down, but the whole messy bun thing is soo in fashion and if your hair is in a messy bun then you don’t have to worry about it trailing over your boobs and hiding your spectacular cleavage that you paid soo much for.  It’s like Sophia’s choice – do you put your hair up for best boob view or keep it down and stay true to your Hot Mom pledge. I haven’t been this conflicted since I had to decide whether or not I wanted a nipple enhancement when I got my last augmentation. It’s things like this that keep me awake at night.  Thank you pharmacy gods for Ambien.

Bad Spray Tan – Yes, bad spray tans happen to hot people.  Trust me if you’re a Hot Mom you’ve, somewhere in your career of being beautiful, have received a tan that can best be described as ashy orange or as us Hot Moms call it assy orange. It’s a tanning hazard that comes with the territory of being amazing.  The first time this happens you’ll go through the Five Stages of Tanning Tears.  Stage one is denial that your tan even looks that orange.  You’ll tell yourself it’s just the fluorescent light in the store or that it will look better in sunlight.  Next, you’ll get angry at your tanning establishment and strike out at them on their Facebook page calling them the “Orange Julius” of tanning salons.  After you get that out of your system you’ll experience Stage 3 and probably drop to your knees and offer a moving pray to the Patron Saint of Hot Moms – Pamela Anderson –  vowing to never ever ask for “extra custom airbrushing” again if she would use her powers to magically change your tan from pumpkin to sun-kissed.  When that doesn’t work you’ll get very depressed and try to perhaps drink yourself into such a stupor that you no longer know your primary colors – making it no big deal that you’re currently the color of a carrot. Lastly, you’ll accept your orangeness, buy a six-pack of St. Ives exfoliating body scrub at Wal Mart mix that with some Comet with bleach and spend a half day in the shower rubbing your skin raw or as I like to call it a “at home full body chemical peel” to knock down your orange to a more acceptable burnt sienna

The Nip Slip – Is it really that bad?  If I’m in a bikini chances are I’m going to nip slip. Sometimes it just happens and sometimes I’ll admit I make it happen. It’s not because I enjoy showing off my stuff, well it is kinda, but it’s more because I believe my boobs have the power to make people happy.  Take last week for example, there I was in my Hot Mom spring break uniform – super skimpy bikini, belly piercing, hair down with a straw cowboy hat, Ugg flip-flops and a trio of David Yurman “statement” necklaces.  Right next to me was this scary mom in a freaking tank suit or whatever they call swim wear that covers you up from chest to thigh.  This lady didn’t even have a sarong or a maxi dress on instead she was wearing navy blue capri track pants OVER her swimsuit that appeared to have food stains on them .(Psst – It was Snarky.)  I was about to hurl and then I noticed she was physically deformed – cankles and a severe case of whale knees . I hope she’s a member of that support group I donated to. What’s it called? Is it Doctors Without Borders? No, no, that’s not it.  Oh, now I remember it’s – People Without Plastic Surgeons. If that wasn’t bad enough she keep on talking to her husband about something called a “brisket taco.”  God, she couldn’t shut up about it. It was all “the brisket was so lean.  The sauce was so savory.”  Who even eats solid foods after Christmas? I gave up chewing for Lent.  To get this rocking bod I’ve been on a protein shake diet for going on almost 4 months.  I felt so sorry for her poor husband that I did an “on purpose” double nip slip.  I’m sure it just about made his year. Why have incredible breasts if you can’t use them to bring joy to others?  – I guess I can check “good deed done for the day” off my “to do” list.

See, I’ve got my share of problems.  All I ask is that the next time you’re so quick to judge me to remember that although I’m immensely better looking than you and my credit card, of course, has a much higher limit, I could be suffering from a crotch rash from hell and that’s all the reason I need to cut in front of you in the school drop off-line – again.


Breaking News Alert! It has just come to my attention that a few of you do not know what a Vajazzle is. For the love of all the glitters please check out my Vajazz Trilogy: Vajazzle Seriously?, Your Valentine Vajazzle Headquarters and PTA Vajazzle Fundraiser Time Line.

**Many thanks for all of you who “liked” me on Facebook!  May the Snark Be With You.  For those that haven’t done the deed yet to stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link – (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.   Thanks also to all the Pinterest folks that are sharing the Snark. Cheers!

The Reverse Stubing – Part 2

I judge a person by two things.  If they like dogs and television. If it’s a no to either of those then not only can we never be friends, but I really will never trust you.

I get being afraid of dogs, but not liking any dog – ever, that’s a sign of serial killer.  If you’re one of those people who pride themselves on never watching television or worse don’t own a television then give me a moment while a grab a Kleenex and weep uncontrollable for a few minutes. Please know that I pity you and right now, in between snot sobbing, I’m praying that the good Lord see fits to bless you with some sort of TV viewing apparatus very, very soon.

The longest love affair I’ve ever had has been with television. Not once has it let me down. I can’t say that about any other relationship I’ve ever had and that includes my parents and husband.

As a young child the first thing I learned to read was the TV Guide. It was so much better then Pat The Bunny and the channel listings were an excellent way to learn my numbers. Every extraordinary fact I’ve ever known has come from television.

At times, people will ask me, “How do you know that?” and I quickly reply in my “are you a dumb ass or what?” voice, “From television, of course.”

It was TV, specifically late 70’s early 80’s ABC television, that provided me with the scheme I was hoping would bring Charity Turner to her spray tanned knees.

I grew up watching The Love Boat.  Every Saturday night you could find me in front of the TV in my flannel Lanz of Salzburg night-gown eating Jiffy Pop, drinking Tab and singing The Love Boat theme song. “Love exciting and new.  Come Aboard. We’re expecting you.” 

All of this Love Boat due diligence paid off big time when I remembered the episode when Captain Stubing went on a diet.  His diet made him grouchy so Julie, Doc, Gopher and Isaac let out his clothes out so he would think he had lost weight and thus brightening his mood.

I was going to pull a “Reverse Stubing”.  Somehow, I was going to get my hands on Charity’s style show finale wedding dress and shrink that sucker.

This kind of plan called for back up.  I would need my troops. I sent out a text to my three best friends (Allison, Kelly, and Nikki) that read, “Charity is going down. Who’s in? My house, after school. I’ve got a mojito mix. Can someone bring a couple of limes?”

As expected everyone showed up to revenge H.Q. – my, non-granite countertop, kitchen. (You know you live in deep suburbia when your judged by the geologic composite of your countertops. I’ve had six-year-old girls come to my house, look at my countertops and say in a disapproving tone, “Eww, this isn’t granite.” Who died and make freaking granite king anyway?)

I had Kelly fill ABC (Always Bitter Chick) and Nikki in on what Charity had done/was doing and then I laid out my plan. I first told Kelly she needed to sit this one out. I thought it was best to keep her hands clean. ABC would be providing back up support only.  She had a little, okay big, problem with impulse control and I didn’t think this plan was a good fit for her, um, talents. Sweet, kind, unassuming Nikki was my go to girl for this one. The big question – could she pull it off.

(For those of you who don’t keep up Snarky and really shame on you for that. I’m not running a remedial blog people. I’ve included a primer on my best friends called, what else, but “My Friends” read it and get caught up.)

“Okay, ladies,” I said, “Here’s what I’m thinking”

I was then loudly interrupted by children wanting more food. I gave them a big bag of leftover Sweet Tart conversation hearts and told them to chomp away.

For those of you thinking, “Bad, bad, mommy” because I threw a one pound bag of conversation hearts that I got for 70% off at Target in the discounted Valentine’s candy aisle at a group of kids for a snack, quit your damn judging.  I started out the after school snack bacchanalia with peanut butter and organic Granny Smith apples from Whole Foods. So there.

After I got the kids started on their heart-shaped snack of corn syrup and modified food starch I started over with my plan.

“We all agree that our primary goal is to teach Charity a lesson. Since she deems it okay to call little girls fat I think we should give her a dose of her own medicine.  What I’ve come up is the “Reverse Stubing.”

All three of my friends gave me a blank look.

“You know like Captain Stubing, The Love Boat. When Julie and the gang let out his clothes so he thinks he’s lost weight.”

Blank stares continue.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t spend your Saturday nights watching The Love Boat back in the day. It was great! The ship was the Pacific Princess and they had amazing guest stars. Oh my God, my favorite episode was when they had the cast of Charlie’s Angels on the ship. I’m telling you, I know Farrah, God rest her soul, was the popular one, but I was a Kate Jackson kind of girl. Smart, wore a bra and had very sensible hair.  Like Farrah could do any real crime fighting with those free range boobs and flowing mane.  You can’t really run that hard with your boobs beating you and your hair getting in your face.  I, mean, really, at the very least you’d stumble or have to stop to give your nipples a chance to recover from extreme tube top chafing.”

ABC says while sucking down her mojito , “Yeah, I think I was doing something called dating and going to parties back then not watching The Love Boat.”

“And by dating,” I ask, “Do you mean letting half the boys in the class of 1989 experience the tactile wonder of what was inside your acid washed jeans?”

“Maybe,” she said smiling and sucking on lime.

“What about you Kelly didn’t you watch The Love Boat?”

“Re-runs maybe, but not enough to have an encyclopedic knowledge of every episode. God, wasn’t it on the air forever?”

“Yes, if you can call 9 years and 249 episodes forever.  That’s not counting their three made for TV movies.”

Nikki then piped in and said, “I wasn’t born yet when it came on, but I think I might have seen part of an episode on TV Land.”

I threw two limes at her.

“Whatever. Since none of you are blessed, like I am, with the memories of a childhood spent basking in the loving, warm glow of a television set, let me put this another way.  You know the “Tramp for Day” wedding gown that Charity always models at the finale of the Style Show well we’re going to shrink it.

By that I mean Nikki you and I are going to get our hands on the dress and exchange it for a smaller, much smaller size.  I want to see Charity try to cram her size 10 body into a size 2 gown. I’m seeing tears and a whole lot of screaming in her future.”

“And just how do you think you and Nikki are going to get a hold of Charity’s dress?”  ABC asked.

“That’s easy. We’re going to volunteer to work backstage at the style show.”

“No, I can’t let you do that,” ABC said, “Do you know what you have to do backstage?  Basically, you’re a hot mom’s servant.  No, that’s wrong, you’re a hot mom’s bitch  This plan has too many holes.  First, no hot mom will want you as their bitch and secondly, no one, I repeat no one, will believe you want to work backstage.”

“Duh,” That’s where Nikki comes in.  Look at her.  So pretty, so young, so sweet. Her breasts so high. Her forehead so wrinkle free. If it wasn’t for us the hot moms would be rushing her for their sorority of Tri-Bitch. The three of us have saved her from being sacrificed on the altar of hotness.  They’ll be thrilled she wants to help. They might even think she’s pondering the possibility of going over to the dark side of yoga pants and Uggs. It’s perfect.”

“Okay,” ABC said, “I get Nikki. But, and no offense here Nikki, she can’t pull this off by herself.   Our little Nikki has not had the years of bitterness washing over her to form her into the Four Star General of Revenge we see standing before us today. How is she going to do this solo?”

“She’s not.  I’m going to be her partner.”

“How?” Kelly and ABC said in unison.

“I’m going in disguise. Nikki will introduce me as a “new mom” to the school. No one will know it’s me.”

“Oh dear God, NO!”  ABC yelled and took a swig straight from the rum bottle.

*Part Three of the Reverse Stubing is right here:

*Attencover_1.3-2tion Snarky Friends I have a new book out and for a limited time only it’s just 99 cents for a heaping helping of Snark! You are now gazing at the second book in the Snarky in the Suburbs series – Snarky in the Suburbs Trouble In Texas. You can buy it for your Kindle or in paperback on Amazon.  It’s also available for the Nook or you can get it for your Kobo reader. Click on a link and give it a test read.  I hope you like it! 🙂

The Reverse Stubing – Part 1

If you want to see ugly go to an elementary school spring style show. Relax, I’m not talking about the 7-year-old girls “modeling” adorable Easter dresses. I’m talking about the moms. 

You have two tiers of ugly at a school style show. Tier Super Creepy and Tier Satan.

Tier Creepy is the moms who sell their soul so they, along with their child(ren), will be selected to “model.” Tier Satan is the Style Show committee. This team of moms led by the Princess of Darkness – Charity (Seriously, that’s her name.) Turner have taken fundraising to the fiery depths of hell.

To get you up to speed here’s a little background on the Edgewater Elementary Spring Style Show.  It was started six years ago in the never-ending quest to find new ways to raise money for the school.  The PTA was already selling cookie dough, gift wrap, magazines and spirit wear.  We had a “Parent Social” and Auction where alleged grown ups went to drink too much and get in a bidding war on their child’s class “basket.”

There was also the Fall Festival and Carnival which worked much like the token shake down at Chuck E Cheese.  A group of enterprising moms thought a Spring Style Show would combine the best of the kid friendly Fall Carnival with the adult appeal of the Parent Social.

The first couple of years it was a quaint affair in the school cafeteria with kids modeling their own clothes and the principal acting as emcee and saying things like, “Ashley loves this dress because it twirls really, really well.” Now the Style Show is held at a country club, the fashions are pre-selected from super fancy boutiques and most importantly mommies now model.

It was year three of the Style Show when it when it was “upgraded” to include mothers strutting their stuff and that’s when the event went from a low-key get together in the cafeteria to our town’s equivalent of Fashion Week. We have Charity Turner to thank for all this.

Charity is on year four of chairing the Style Show Her qualifications for this “honor” are in 2009 her closet was highlighted in the local lifestyle magazine’s “I Heart My Closet” feature. There was Charity in all her white blonde glory standing on a zebra patterned carpet in her leopard wallpapered closet with a blinged out Home Depot chandelier casting glints of light on her overly orange spray tanned arm that look like a sweet potato had mated with a Cheeto, clutching her “favorite item in the closet” a vintage Channel purse from her days as a “fashion buyer.”

What Charity neglected to mention in the interview was to get the closet (which was a former bedroom) that according to her is the “envy of the neighborhood” her two daughters, who are 6 years apart in age now have to share a room. Behind her in the photo are racks of clothes and what Charity calls her “denim” bar. The bar is floor to ceiling cubbies where she stores her “78 different pairs of jeans.” Some women upon reading this were all “Oh My Gawd, I just loooove her closet!”

My take on it was more of an inside glimpse of well-organized hoarder. I mean, really, what woman needs 78 pairs of jeans.  I’d bet my left cankle she probably wears, at best, less than ten percent of what’s in there.  Oh, and the whole fashion buyer thing – total crap unless you call working the Estee Lauder counter at Macy’s before you got married as “fashion buying.” None of this really even matters. What matters is she’s an evil troll.

Upon taking over chair of the Style Show Charity told everyone that she was going to make it more “professional.” By that she meant she would be taking her orders directly from Satan.  Charity insisted that every child and mother who wanted to model in the Style Show must turn in two pictures.  One was to be a head shot and the other full length body shot with their height, weight and sizes listed on the back. (Last year, I sent in two pictures of my dog.  I was told by Charity that my “attempts at humor were not appreciated.”)

After these pictures were turned in Charity and her committee would select a group that would come for call backs. This is where you would demonstrate your walk. Mothers were instructed to wear at least 3 inch heels to “create a runway experience.”  All the moms were also informed that the mother/child modeling was not a package deal. The mom may get selected while the child may not or vice versa. You also had to sign a form that stated you “would not contest, in any way the selection of who was picked to model and that the committee would reserve the right to revoke anyone’s model status at anytime.”

After call backs the list of mothers and children selected to model was posted on the front door on the school. You should have see these moms running to the front door like they were back in high school rushing to see who made cheerleader. If you believe that 30 to almost 50-year-old women have matured past performing the hat trick of hopping up and down, flailing their arms and shrieking like love-sick teenagers then think again. It sounded like they were being doused with acid and my mother’s 1962 bottle of Jean Nate.

As you can guess, I was never one to entertain thoughts of any kind of modeling experience – ever. (My one exception would be working the runway for a Target XL track pant fashion show. Count me in on that.) Thankfully, my children would rather eat brussel sprout and kale cereal than provide someone with a head shot. That meant I could sit back and make fun of the all moms that spent months currying favor with the “selection committee.” Charity would spend all year going up to moms and touching an article of clothing they have on and making statements like, “Oh, I just love this cashmere  tunic. Keep it up and you could be in the running to be a S.S.M.”

S.S.M stood for Style Show Mom. For a small portion of moms at the elementary school achieving S.S.M. status was akin being crowned Mrs. Hot America.  Charity could also be found delivering fashion rebukes. Two years ago she saw me in my track pants at the grocery store and told me I was a “fashion no.” I smiled and said, “Thank you.”

“Thanks for what?” she said in an irritated and confused voice.

“Thanks just for thinking of me. Do you do it a lot?”

“Do what a lot?”

“Think of me. I’m betting you do. Is it just me or do you think we have a connection?”

That freaked her out so much she took her cart and ran off to the frozen food aisle.

The chance at being a S.S.M brought out the five-star ass kissing for the wanna be hot moms. You see, the Style Show is the gateway to being upgraded to full hot mom status and Charity Tuner was the role model for how to go from not to hot.

Charity isn’t bad looking, but she’s not your typical hot mom. By that I mean she’s not a double zero.  Charity, is at best, a size 8 which in the land of hot moms might as well be a size 18.  Things changed for her when she landed the chair of the Style Show. She used her new-found power to claw her way into the hot mom group and thanks to her success many wanna be hotties saw the style show as a way in.

Once you got in you couldn’t relax. There was a bit of a pecking order to the Style Show. If you were kind of hot you were selected to wear the churchy looking Easter dress or worse a maxi . If you were medium hot you got the jeans and sleeveless summer top look. If you were hot you got the shorts and resort wear. Super hot moms with a predisposition to starving and 21st century space-aged polymer synthetic breasts modeled swim-wear.

Yes, swim-wear, I’m talking bikinis and heels.

They start off strutting down the runway with a sarong wrapped seductively low on their hips then take it, turn, giving the audience a full butt shot, and walk back up the runway.

The queen of the hot moms or in this case Style Show chair – Charity Turner – would end the show wearing -and dear God in heaven this is why I love the suburbs so very much – a bridal gown with, and to me this is the very best part, a full length veil.

I will say Charity, or someone, had the decency to at least make it a bridal gown for say your second, or third or fourth wedding. There was nothing princessy or virginal about it.  This gown shrieked “experienced woman with a wide variety of talents featuring advanced training in the horizontal arts.”

For that sight alone I gladly paid $40 for my Style Show ticket.

The kids fashions, as you can imagine, were an afterthought. In fact, since my  kids weren’t involved in this cluster of crap I never gave it much thought until that fateful day when my friend Kelly confided in me.

Our daughters were at ballet and we were killing time sitting in my car outside the McDonald’s enjoying a 99 cent vanilla ice cream cone when Kelly started talking about the Style Show. I perked up hoping it was going to be some juicy mom gossip like Charity had an STD or something, but it was the kind of information that made me sad. Kelly told me that Charity was calling some of the little girls that were going to model fat.

“What?!” I said while still licking my cone, how did you hear that?”

“It was all anyone could talk about at the Multiples Club.”

Now before you think one of my best friends is a swinger the Multiples Club is for parents with twins and triplets. Kelly has twin girls and the Mothers of Multiples meet a couple of times a month and compare notes on raising same age children.

I asked Kelly, “What exactly did the Princess of Darkness say to the girls?”

“Well, two moms told me they had taken their daughters to the You Say Spoiled Like It’s a Bad Thing children’s boutique so they could select their outfits to model in the Style Show and while they were trying on clothes Charity shows up and goes into the dressing room area and tells two sets of 6-year-old twins they were ‘kind of fat and needed to lose those bellies.'”

At this point in Kelly’s story to me I stopped her and say, “Please tell me one of the moms cut off  Charity’s oxygen supply by strangling her with some size 6X pink lace leggings.”

Kelly said, “No, according to them they took it and whispered to their daughters to not listen to the scary, orange lady.”

I, of course, told Kelly I thought it was horrible but, my main anger was directed at the mother of the twins. In my opinion, they should have told Charity to shove it and more importantly not subjected their girls to the satanic ritual that is the fashion show.

Kelly continued and said, “Well, that’s not all she’s doing.  I’ve heard she told a couple of 4th grade girls that need to go on a diet and two girls have been told unless they lose weight they can’t model.”

I look at Kelly, take another lick of my ice cream cone, try to stop thinking about how much I want another one and say, “Well, once again those girls’ mothers are total idiots for putting their daughters in harms way by letting them do the ridiculous style show.  Everyone one with a brain knows Charity is evil and any mom who would willingly expose her child to that dark underworld is worse than Charity in my opinion.”

Kelly kept staring at me. This made me nervous and she wasn’t agreeing me, that made me more nervous. Something was up. I looked at her and said, “What?”

“What do you mean, what?”

“There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

“I’m afraid to tell you because I know you’re probably going to do something and that’s also exactly why I want to tell you.”

“Then tell me! You’re starting to freak me out now.”

“Okay,” Kelly whispered and then she got a little choked up and continued, “The moms told me when Charity was telling their girls they need to lose their bellies she also said if they didn’t they would end up looking like my daughters.”

I was so consumed with angry I almost dropped my cone. I didn’t know where to strike out first. To the dip shit moms who are supposed to be friends of Kelly who told her that. Did a cruel statement like that really need to be repeated -ever?  Why did these moms think Kelly would need to hear that?  The only thing I could think of off the top of my head was misery loves company.

As for Charity’s statement I wasn’t surprised at all. She’s raising two girls that are on the fast track to an eating disorder. I know childhood obesity is a real problem, but I still think when a five-year old  announces at the kindergarten Valentine’s party that she can’t eat a heart-shaped sugar cookie with icing because  “My mommy never wants me to be fat and ugly,”  it’s a little disconcerting.

Also, not being surprised doesn’t mean not be extremely hurt for my friend. Kelly has beautiful strong, healthy girls. Are they rail thin? No, but they’re not fat and even if they were what kind of mother goes around calling little girls fat? I gave Kelly a big hug and said, “Charity will have to pay for this you know.”

Kelly, hugged me back and said with a sniffle, “I was so hoping you would say that.”

“Don’t worry sweetie,” I said while popping the last of the ice cream cone in my mouth, “The Princess of Darkness will soon be eating those words.”

Part 2  of the Reverse Stubing  click here

*Attencover_1.3-2tion Snarky Friends I have a new book out and for a limited time only it’s just 99 cents for a heaping helping of Snark! You are now gazing at the second book in the Snarky in the Suburbs series – Snarky in the Suburbs Trouble In Texas. You can buy it for your Kindle or in paperback on Amazon.  It’s also available for the Nook or you can get it for your Kobo reader. Click on a link and give it a test read.  I hope you like it! 🙂

Parent Teacher Conference – By the Numbers

1236465_612764895442080_848344258_nThe Parent Teacher Conference is one you either look forward to because your seven-year-old little bundle of joy is reading at a college level thus providing you with the opportunity to sit back, sniff an Elmer’s glue stick and bask in the praise being heaped on your budding genius.

For others the conference event ranks right up there with getting your annual pap smear.  As a veteran of many Parent Teacher Conferences I will confess that some years it’s all good and other years, if given the choice, I would pick getting up close and personal with a speculum.  As your kids get older the whole parent teacher conference vibe changes.

No longer do they just have one teacher, they have eight. This leaves parents hanging out in the hallways waiting their turn for the various teacher meet and greets. To make this occasion even better no one closes the damn door when they go in to meet with teacher thus giving people like me (curious and concerned) the chance to share in everyone’s conference experience.

Due to my superior knowledge gathering abilities I’m able to present to you this edition of: Parent Teacher Conference By the Numbers.

11 Moms in yoga pants.  The time has come to “out” the yoga pant. It’s just the 21st century version of the black stirrup pant risen from the fashion ashes of the 1980’s (I’m sure the stirrup pant had to bitch slap the shoulder pad to see who would climb out of the ash heap first) and reborn, stirrup-less and with a trendy, sporty name. Ladies, we all know yoga pants are super comfy, but sometimes you have to peel off the cotton/lycra athletic wear and put on some real clothes. Trust me, if you can insert your legs and then use your super toned arms to yank those yoga pants up and over your firm butts all the way to the land of flat abs then you can do the exact same maneuver to get yourself into jeans, cords or gasp, a pair of dry clean only pants.   It’s exactly the same except you also have to work a zipper and a button.  I know it sounds really hard, but hang tough.  Don’t let a little thing like a zipper and button get you down. I’ve got faith in your fine motor skills and by golly it will give those nifty opposable thumbs a workout too.

For the two yoga pants on the bottom, athletic bra on the top moms that “worked” the conference into their running schedule you get a special shout out.  Please note, I have nothing against marathoners. I applaud their dedication, self-discipline and resting heart rate. It’s that I just don’t care to hear people proselytize about their workouts.  These two chicks over shared, again and again, that they had just “road slammed 13 miles” because they were “training for the New York Marathon in an effort to BQ”.  Which I found out means qualify for the Boston Marathon.  Silly me, I thought they were talking about BBQ.  Imagine my embarrassment when I asked them, “Wow, they have that good of barbecue in New York City?”

The marathon mom with terminal torpedo nipples that looked like they were trying to drill their way out of her jog bra sneered at me with disgust and said, “God, how would I know.  I haven’t had beef since 1992. Besides I said B.Q. not BBQ.”

I said, “Oh sorry” and then asked her if I had any gristle in my teeth. (Seriously, what a witch.)

Those moms needed to run along home, shower and come back. Their beef free sweat stench combined with what I’m pretty sure is urine was making me queasy.  I think one of them may have an incontinence issue that’s been aggravated by pounding the pavement.  May l suggest “Depends for the Girl on the Go” or at the very least a full coverage panty with a deluxe cotton crotch lining instead of the thong peeking out of the back of their yoga pants. With all that running I would think the thong would really irritate your butt crack.  Lord, think of the friction.  I’m surprised it hasn’t worked like a saw and cleaved both women in two or at the very least given them a case of double crack or as it’s referred to in medical terms – a double vertical.  That’s when you have a butt crack that’s twice the normal size.  Just another reason why I don’t run.

Here’s a brain teaser for you – What’s the maximum number of family that can show up for one child’s conference?  According to my data the answer is 8 Family Members.  That’s one mom, one dad, one step-dad, one dad’s girlfriend, two grandmothers, one aunt, one adult step-child.  Yes, indeed it was a blended family festival.  I struck up a conservation with the chatty paternal grandmother and praised her for being so involved in her grandchild’s life.  As predicted that sweet statement got her talking.  She explained that she was here less for the grandchild and more as a support system for her “poor” son who got the “shaft in the divorce.”  As for the adult stepchild and the aunt they were both “certified education professionals.”

According to grandma, “One was a substitute teacher on occasion and the other worked as a day care helper, but they both know a lot about school stuff.”  As for that girlfriend the Dad brought, and couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of, I never talked to her, but I pretty sure she was dragged along for the sole purpose of being a “F You” from the dad to the mom.  I wish you could have seen this crew.  They couldn’t even walk through a door without bickering about who would go in first and where they would sit.   The geometry teacher gently suggested that the biological parents of the student sit in the two chairs provided and the rest stand.  The grandmas didn’t like that one bit. They both got the chairs.

7 Violating the school dress code moms Yes, I know I’ve beaten this horse to death, but, too bad. I’m back on the subject of hot moms. I stopped counting when I easily reached 7 moms who were in violation of the school dress code.  At what age do we get over the fact that we have breasts?  I ask this because it seems that we have a need to bare our middle to lower boob well into middle age.  Do we do this so we don’t forget we have them? Do hoisting our girls up and way out of our tops serve as a fleshy post it note? A “don’t forget these are yours” reminder

I also encountered a new species of hot mom during the Parent Teacher Conference. The Harley Mom. This bad girl was decked out in Harley gear.  Which can best be described as a bedazzled Harley t-shirt and a ridiculous biker hat that has all that skull and crossbones crap all over it. But here’s the thing that propelled this mother to the Hot Mom Hall of Fame – She was in shorts, flip-flops and chaps. Yeah, that’s right, freaking chaps.   (Please note: This is my second chap sighting in less than 3 months. I’m getting alarmed.) Not just any chaps, mind you but black chaps with a hot pink stripe down the side. I was mesmerized and had to strike up a conversation with this Biker Babe.  As an ice breaker I commented that her “hair sure looked good for just getting off a motorcycle.”

She stared at me for a second and said, “I didn’t ride a motorcycle here.  I drove my car.”

Intrigued, I blurted out, “Really, then why the chaps?”

She quickly answered back, “Oh, I’m breaking them in.”

Still curious I go for it with, ”You have to break in chaps?”

“Yes, they’re leather and you need to wear them so they can form to your shape.”

Now, the whole shorts thing makes sense so I ask, “Is that why you’re in shorts so the leather can form to your legs better?”

She gives me a confused look and says, “No, I’m wearing shorts because they match my shirt.”  With that statement the Harley Mom is catapulted to Stupidest Hot Mom status.

6 Really Important Parents  Congratulations you have a very demanding job that requires your constant and steadfast dedication to your phone. I get it, your better than the rest of us moron parents who can actually holster our communication devices for something as mundane as a parent teacher conference.  I saw this repeatedly – parents walking into the classroom for their conference still taking on their phone.  The teacher goes to shake their hand and introduce herself, but the dumb ass parent for some reason, I’m guessing helping land a jetliner that lost all four of its engines or doing brain surgery via their iPhone, won’t hang up.  One parent was even having a conference call with their phone on speaker.  (BTW, your sales numbers in Des Moines sounded awfully low.) She kept on giving the teacher the 1 minute sign with her finger.  I think the teacher was extremely nice not to give that parent the 1 minute sign with her middle finger.  I know I wanted to.

There’s no better time than standing out in a hallway waiting for your turn with the Algebra 2 teacher to strike up a conversation with other mothers you have never seen before.  This all leads to 2 Awkward Confessions.  I found out that one mother’s “dead beat of an alcoholic husband drank away all of their private school money.”  This mom in a Burberry trench coat and handbag was bemoaning to me that her son after “9 years in private school was reduced to a public education and now he’s failing because he’s distracted by the large class size.”

I asked her what grade her son was in and she said he was a freshman.  That lead to my follow-up question which was, “Why is a freshman taking honors Algebra 2?  It’s a sophomore course.”

She explained that because he’s from a “private school background” she felt he would “be at least be 2 years ahead of any public school curriculum.”

Sure, I wanted to strangle her with her $3,000 trench coat, but she wasn’t worth it so instead I said, “Maybe he’s not N.P.S.M.”

“What’s that?” she asked trying to raise her eyebrows without success due to excessive botoxing.

I replied very matter of factly, “It means Not Public School Material.  You know kids who can’t hack it in the real world.  It’s okay, don’t feel bad or anything.  I just hope you’ve got a family business where he can find a job someday.”

Another mom confessed that school is really a “waste of time” because the most important thing a kid needs to learn to succeed is to “not take crap off of anyone.”  I felt I was doing a public service by attempting to disabuse her of the notion.  I gently pointed out that being a successful adult means being able to judge when you should take crap off someone and when you shouldn’t.  On a daily basis any adult will have an occurrence when they’re taking crap. You have to metaphorically weigh that crap and decide “Yeah, I’ll take that” or “That’s a no can do” and begin redistributing said crap.  If you went through life never taking crap you wouldn’t ever get behind the wheel of a car, fly American Airlines, get an education, hold down a job, stay married and most certainly never ever have children. Taking crap is a life skill.   I don’t think I convinced her.  She told me I was “talking crap.”

Beware of 1 Mom Bearing Gifts.  This mom is not just a suck up she’s a show off.  On the first day of school and during Parent Teacher Conference time you can see her up at the school with a red wagon full of treats for the teachers.  In elementary school this is tolerable. When you have middle school and high school aged children and you’re still dragging a Radio Flyer red wagon filled to the brim with your “world famous chocolate chip pumpkin bread” down the hall then you need to roll yourself and that wagon to the closest in-patient mental health facility.

The Wagon Mom is a confused ass pain. Confused because why in the hell would you give high teachers pumpkin bread?  If you really want to suck up try some hard liquor. She’s an ass pain because she parades her Merry Sunshine self up and down the halls stopping every few feet to answer parent’s questions about “What’s in your wagon?”  (I’m I the only one that thinks that sounds dirty?) She’s very eager to answer, in voice that sounds like a Disney Princess after taking too many hits of helium, how she’s got goodie bags for all her kids teachers filed with the “Smith Family Secret Recipe World Famous Pumpkin and Banana Bread.”  Each treat is in a cellophane bag tied with school themed ribbon and pencils that say, “The Smith Family Loves Teachers.” Gag.  One dad at this year’s conference, God bless him, told her,“I can’t believe you still do this.”

She, of course, took it as a compliment and asked the parents standing around “You mean none of you bring treats to the teachers?”

That was my cue to reply, “No, because our kids can stand on their own feet and don’t need pumpkin bread shoes to prop them up.”  Oh my, she took her little red wagon and stomped right down the hall.  Is it wrong to hope she suffers crippling injuries due to a runway red wagon ramming her into oncoming traffic in the near to immediate future?  I sure hope not.


Currently Irking Me…

It’s true, I do like to complain.  I think I have a gift for it or at least that’s what my husband tells me.  I consider it my calling, an art form, if you will, and it would be a shame, don’t you think, not to share it?   So, today in honor of the impending holiday that celebrates sharing I give to you my list of things that are currently irking me.

Icky Christmas –  I get it that retailers, in order to hit their sales goals, have to haul out the Christmas decorations in September.  I’m totally over finding it odd that while I’m still buying sun screen in bulk my grocery store is setting up their holiday baking display.  What I don’t get is, why recently, retailers Christmas decorations  look just plain old sad, like they’ve been sitting in the attic of a nursing home for 20 years with huge crates of books and Costco size boxes of Depends stacked on top of them.  For instance, I’m at Kohl’s this morning to spend my $10 in Kohl’s cash before it expires and their holiday decor is so tasteless and cheap looking it’s distracting me from my shopping.  It’s an abundance of nasty red aluminum Christmas trees with cockeyed branches.  It looks as if they’ve taken Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree, wrapped the branches in tinfoil and then spray painted it in red glitter glue.  The saggy bows on the trees even looked soiled.  Totally not feeling the holiday spirit. I then go to Macy’s and you think they might class it up a bit, but no, still icky.   The store is full of tired Christmas trees, that at first look, I thought were flocked, but no, it was layers of dust apparently left behind by the ghost of Christmas Past.

Because I was feeling feisty, coupled with my love of complaining and the fact that I had time to kill before I was meeting someone at the Paneras right by Macy’s  I went to speak to the store manager about their less than spic-n-span holiday decor.  At first he disputed my claim that their decor was dirty, but then I walked him over to a tree and let the grim speak for itself.   To his credit, the store manager also found it “less than ideal.”  I told him to ask himself W.W.M.D.?  (What Would Martha Do?) Any store that carries the Martha Stewart line of cookware and linens should at the very least invest in some of her cleaning products and get to work divesting their decor of what I’m sure is toxic mold disguised as dust.   I know were in year 2 of a crappy economy, but that is no reason for the store’s decor to look like it’s on depression meds.  Retailers you want us to spend money.  You’ve seduced us with lower prices, but we still need to see the pretty or at the very least somewhat sanitary decorations that don’t work off-season as homes to dust mites plump from feeding on years of holiday dander.

Hidden School Expenses – At the beginning of every school year parents always say, “I wish they would just tell us how much everything is going to cost  so I write one check and get it over with.”  Well, there’s a very good reason you don’t get that magic year-end tally because you’d get so ticked off you would demand some kind of school audit or run for school board.  In the first 3 months my daughter has been in public school 5th grade I have written checks to her school for almost $1,500.  That amount includes $200 for 3 school fundraisers, $100 for field trips, $50 for teacher presents, $75 for my contribution for the class basket and on and on.  I’m tired of writing checks.  Oh yes, I could give the school my debit card and they could draw the money out of my account, but I’m not so sure I’m comfortable with that.

Also, my hate for the new principal grows and festers more everyday.  In his quest to rid the school of obesity the class parties will now “focus on fitness” and are going off site.  The winter party is being held at a bowling alley.  (I don’t know about you, but when I think tough cardio work out I think bowling.)  My problem with the party is that each child is being charged $60 for the outing.  That price is to cover buses, bowling, shoes and an “instructor.”  For $60 an hour we could hire each kid a personal trainer!  Here’s what really makes me want to slap him. He has the impertinence to suggest that “our parents can afford it.”  Has this goober not left the pre-school classroom in two years? Is he not reading at a 3rd grade level therefore making it hard for him to stay up-to-date on current events? The economy sucks.  “Our parents” are being laid off, downsized, and when their not job hunting their fighting with Bank of America to keep their homes from being foreclosed on.  So, back off with your “can afford it” mentality, put on a dunce cap and give yourself a time out.

I’m Praying for You –  No, I’m not satan with cellulite. I believe in prayer.  I’m just beyond over certain personality types (pains in the asses) who have managed to turn the 4 word phrase, “I’m praying for you” into a put down.  You think I’m crazy, I know, but I have a dear friend going through a rough time and I’ve watched this happen and it’s not like she’s actively seeking out folks to pray for her or even telling people about her problems.  This is just from acquaintances that come up to her at school and Starbucks and launch into their go to greeting mode – “murchy” (mom+churchy) as in, I’m praying for you (because I’m better than you) or I’m praying for you (because you have problems and I don’t. Oh, happy day for me.) It’s all in the vocal delivery.

Let’s take the snooty praying for you.  It’s voiced with some sincerity, but the give away is the teeny bit of disdain that escapes from the person’s mouth.  That coupled with the body language of almost boredom with your plight ensures that you know that they think your just a tad beneath them.  The “I’m glad it’s you with problems and not me” praying for you is signified by how the person’s voice gets higher as they speak and you’ll notice they have trouble making direct eye contact.  It’s like your misfortune might be contagious.  In addition, have you noticed that people saying “I’m praying for you” has become as ubiquitous as saying “Have a nice day.”   Are we diluting the power of prayer by mainstreaming it as a daily salutation?

Earlier in the week, I had just finished checking out at the grocery store when the 20 something male clerk said “Thanks and I’ll be praying for you.”  I’m thinking, okay, what was in my shopping cart that made him want to pray for me.  I begin doing a mental inventory and remember that I did get bacon and he could think I’m killing myself with fatty nitrate enhanced meats or was it the US magazine I got?  Yes, US magazine isn’t exactly high brow literature, but it’s not like I had the Star or the National Enquirer in my cart.  Even worse, is it like that episode on the X Files where aliens could detect if you had cancer.  Crap, what if the clerk is an alien and I have cancer?  But, would aliens pray?  I’m telling you it freaked me out all the way home.

Hot High School Moms –  This year I have a son in high school and it’s been a whole new world for him and me.  I’ve recently been introduced to the world of hot high school moms.  Yes, I know elementary school is full of hot moms, but I naively thought as we and our children aged that some maturity would happen along the way.  Most, if not all of us, high school moms are over 40. So, where does one begin to describe this phenomena.  First, I guess the e-mail that got sent to all the moms telling us to wear our lowest cut, sheerest and tightest t-shirts to any and all school functions must have gotten stuck in my spam filter.  Ditto for the e-mail telling us (grown and in some cases, very, very middle-aged women) to giggle, yes giggle at school events.  Did I miss out on the anti-aging secret of the century – that giggling makes you look younger.  It makes you look stupid, yes, but younger, I’m not so sure about that.  Secondly, when did being a M.I.L.F. become a goal for anyone not cast in Bravo’s “Real Housewives” series?

Case in point:  I’m at my son’s high school open house where you take your child’s schedule and go to each of their classes for 10 minutes.  It’s very informative and let’s you take a peek at what your child’s day look like.  More importantly it gives you a face to attach to whatever teacher your child is complaining (like mother like son) about.  As I’m walking the corridors of the school to find my son’s first class I’m awe struck by the plethora of middle-aged female flesh being exposed.  Crinkly cleavage sprinkled with sun spots, nipples, at least one decade past their nursing prime at full alert, and short skirts showcasing legs that look good, but look their age.  To top all that off all these women are walking the halls chatting/giggling on their cell phones.  If you closed your eyes you would think these women were 17 not 47 by their phone conversation alone.   Someone, I beg you, tell me what’s wrong with being a grown-up? What’s wrong with wearing grown up clothes?  I don’t want to single-handedly bring back the house coat and pleated jeans, but come on when did the sign of mom success mean being able to squeeze your boobage  into your daughters questionable camisole masquerading as a top?   Furthermore, has no one told these moms that anytime you have to squeeze your front into something it also means your squeezing your back as well.  That can only lead to one thing, back fat that looks like chunky rolls of sugar cookie dough protruding through the rear of that cami/top.  Ladies, you’ve got a D cup in the front and you’re working, at the very least, an A cup in the back.  Not good moms.  Not good at all.

That’s all I’ve got for right now, but thanks for letting me share or more accurately, over share.

*Thank you for reading Snarky in the Suburbs.  Check back on Monday for “The Thanksgiving Throwdown”.  To stay up to date on new posts you can go to Facebook, type in Snarky in the Suburbs and click on like or twitter @snarkynsuburbs.