Monday, May 23, 2011

SUCKA

I swear I saw this:  I am driving home from 9 hours at the office.  Skirt tighter, face shinier, kids grumpier, car hotter.  And who are all of these idiots leaving the same time I am? 

So I stop at a stop light, glance in the rearview mirror behind me.  I see a SUV.   A fly, tricked out SUV.  High-end model.  The female driver must be a working gal, as what fool would willingly travel on Shepherd and I-10 at 5:45 p.m. unless she was coming home from work?  Or a gun was pointed at her head?  And her hair, her hair!  It sure as hell wasn’t in an end-of-the-day-why-didn’t-my-$13.00-volumizer-keep-working-no-mirror-keeps-getting-lower-and-looser-as-it-hits-the-headrest ponytail.  We are talking expensive highlights.  Groomed within an inch.  (Chicks notice these things).  No sunglasses-with-straight-pin-in-the-arm-scratches-and-toddler-lick-marks-on-the-lens like mine. We are talking Prada, Gucci, Bulgari. The driver, the blonde female, comes to a stop behind me, and with God as my witness puts her thumb in her mouth and starts sucking it. Did I really see this?  Just to be sure, I pulled up alongside her at the next stoplight, and I’m telling ya, Girlfriend was full-on sucking it!

What in the hell brought this on?  Deadline missed?  Out of chicken nuggets?  Painful Kegels?  Shit-fire, this woman has got it BAD. 

But wait!  Maybe Sister Girl is on to something.  Clearly she is making somebody happy.  Her clients, her boss, her husband, her sugar daddy, somebody ponied up the flow for her trimmings.  Maybe she arrives home in a state of almost narcotic bliss after rush-hour thumb sucking.  Does it release endorphins?  Does she revert to a harmonious child-like state?   Is it dipped in vodka? Maybe she doesn’t crank the car radio up to 1,000 decibels of “Brass Monkey” to drown out her kids’ complaints!  Maybe she doesn’t unleash bitter rantings at the recorded phone calls from HISD/Olan Mills/Purple Heart!  Maybe she doesn’t wildly kick the throw-rug when it bunches up under her feet!   Maybe she doesn’t accidently pitch her kid’s homework in the recycling bin!  Maybe she actually remembers her children’s true names!  Maybe, just maybe, she is actually a reasonable and rational human being while trying to make dinner and field questions and help with homework and take a business call and find lunch money and sign a release form!   Could this be the answer?  Would all AWM’s be kinder, gentler humans after a commute full of le thumbe de suc? 

Ok, so I threw this at the Old Man.  He said in order to be True to My Art, I have to actually try it.  You know, suck my own thumb on the way home and see if it works.    

It was…salty.  And I felt far from tranquil on my arrival home.  Next time I'll try the vodka. 

Monday, May 9, 2011

I TOTALLY STOLE THIS FROM MY DEAR AWM KELLY WHO STOLE IT FROM ANOTHER AWM

Last week a study came out which showed that working moms have sicker kids than stay-at-home moms. Almost immediately, the stay-at-home moms turned the study into a 500-page scrapbook project which they used to pummel working moms with. Then working moms retaliated by sending their secretaries out to staple all of the stay-at-home moms' nostrils shut. Or at least, I suspect that’s the kind of “mommy-war” bullshit that the media probably expected would happen.
In real life, however, almost everyone ignored the study because both the stay-at-home moms and the working moms were too damn busy to waste their time criticizing the personal decisions of fellow mothers. In fact, pretty much the only people who paid attention to this at all were the mothers-who-are-way-too-concerned-about-what-everyone-else-is-doing-because-it-distracts-them-from-all-the-shit-they’re-personally-failing-at. 
Still, there are some new mothers who have fallen for the ridiculous idea that mothers are at war with each other, and who feel conflicted about making the decision to go back to work or to stay at home after having children, so I’m going to give you the lowdown of both options so you can decide for yourself.
The PROS of being a stay-at-home mom: You don’t have to shower until noon. If your child is under 6 months old, you can watch zombie movies and The Big Lebowski all day and they totally won’t care. Pajamas are your new uniform. You’re always home to sign for packages. You get to see all the cool things your kid does all day. Your kid isn’t exposed to the petri-dish of germs that is daycare. You feel like Donna Reed. You don’t have to deal with that bitch at work anymore. Your partner thinks you’re amazing. You have the quiet satisfaction of doing what’s right for your children.
The CONS of being a stay-at-home mom: You don’t have time to shower ever. If your child is over 6 months old, you have to watch really shitty kids TV all the time and you have weird sex dreams about Thomas the Train. All of your pajamas have bodily fluids on them. And not the good kind. You accidentally show your boobs to the mailman/cable guy/next door neighbor. You realize that your kid is boring and/or an asshole and you can never escape from them. You want to knife Donna Reed for making it look so easy. You irrationally shout, “STAY-AT-HOME MOMS ARE WORKING MOMS” every time you read an article like this and then you shake your head and wonder how you got like this. You feel so lonely that you actually start to miss that bitch at work. Your partner wants to rest after a long day of work and they don’t understand that you need to rest too and they say something like, “Why? What did you do all day? This house is a wreck” and then you have to go to jail for stabbing them in the shoulder. You find that prison is a pleasant break from being a stay-at-home mom. You secretly worry that you’re making the wrong decision.

The PROS of being a working mom: You get to escape from the insanity of motherhood for 8 hours a day. You have more disposable income that you can spend on family vacations and classes. You can afford to put your child in a Portuguese-immersion daycare that will give him a huge advantage in school. You have an experienced nanny/child-care provider to give you advice and help raise your child. You can belt out that “I can bring home the bacon” song and totally mean it. You are able to keep up an active social life, which makes you a happier, more focused mom when you're home. You have the quiet satisfaction of having both a successful career and family. 
The CONS of being a working mom: You miss eight hours a day of your child’s life. You spend your entire paycheck on concerts to see The Wiggles. Your child is fluent in a language you can’t even speak. You have a nanny/childcare provider who is constantly telling you how to raise your child and occasionally your child calls her “mommy.” When “Cat’s in the Cradle” comes on the radio, you fall to pieces and everyone in your office hears you crying the ugly cry. Your kid is sick every other week from all the germs at daycare and your boss makes you feel like shit for missing work to take care of her. You end up using all your vacation days getting thrown up on in the pediatrician’s office. Everyone in your house gets lice. Twice. You’re so exhausted that you can’t accomplish anything and you feel like you’re failing as a parent and as an employee. You secretly worry that you’re making the wrong decision.
In the end, only one universal truth remains: You’re going to doubt yourself no matter what you do, but whatever decision you make is probably the best one for your particular family. Also, eventually everyone gets lice. That’s another universal truth but not necessarily one anyone ever talks about.
PS: If you’re a working mom still pissed off about the sick-kid study, then you need to take a deep breath and calm the hell down. Yes, the study implies that children of working moms are four times more likely to be poisoned but that doesn’t mean you’re the one poisoning them. Honestly, who has the time? I barely have time to cook dinner at night, much less plan a poisoning. My guess is that your children are being poisoned by stay-at-home moms who are retaliating after having discovered that you are secretly encouraging your sick children to lick all the playground equipment just to level the sick-kid playing field. Honestly, I can’t say I blame them.
PPS: Dear media: The paragraph right above this one? That’s how you start a mommy-war. Fucking amateurs.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

CHICKEN DINNER WINNER


I haven’t posted in a while, been in trial out of county.  And, you see, THERE IS NOBODY BUSIER THAN ME.  NOBODY.  I fall flat on my sagging ass in most of my endeavors, so I have to feel superior about something.  In the World Series of Busy AWM Poker, I’ve got the Royal Flush.

Four kids, full-time job, what husband?  EMBA.  My turn.  Date night?  Lonely bed.  Who’re you?  Wall Street Journal.  Study Team.  Skype.  Lock-down.  Isolation chamber.  Noise canceling.  Cold food.  Loud shoes.  Light OFF!  China trip.  TEN days???  Too tired.  Try tomorrow.  It happens.   Senior year. Cap & gown. Invitations.  Applications.   1040.  W-2.  Another check?  Tickets. Limo. Tuxedo.  Curfew.  Debate.  No later.  Prom date. Condoms?  Denial?  Who’s there, what did you do? College apps.  FAFSA!   On time!    Toddler twins.   Potty training.  Mystery puddle.  Germ factory.  Fecal matter.  Temper tantrum.  Nanny!  Pull-ups.  Come here!  Did you wipe?  Wash your hands.  Not now! Mine!  Please share!  Don’t hit!  I’m wet!  Eat that.  Not that!  Get in! Get out! Persistent whimpering.  Bedtime schizophrenia.  Rock me!  Melatonin.  Public meltdown.  Whose kid? Nap time.  Little Einstein.  Crapapalooza.  No wipes. Skid mark.  Stain remover.   No dessert! Where’s your fork?  Don’t throw!  Backpack. Dance class.  Dry clothes.  Show & Tell.  I forgot.  Dang!  Grab something.  Anything!  Croup.  Xoponex.  Dope up.  Big Boy!  Big Girl!  99.5??? No way.  Waiting room.  Cooties.  Co-pay!
Second grade.  Conduct sheet.  “Satisfactory?”  Pull a card.  Reading log.  Fund raiser.  Paper towel tubes.  Field Day.  Integers.  Less than. Lunch money.  Mystery  Reader.  Class snack.  First Communion.  Blue blazer. Bring your book.  I don’t know why. Trust me. Finish that.  Take a shower.  Brush your teeth.  No homework? Recorder squeeeek!  Protective cup.  Uniform.  It’s clean.  Get a ride.  Field trip.  I can’t.  Next time.  Sending check.  Snack Mom.  Kroger! What are you doing?  Brush your TEETH!  Oil change. Late ass.  Senseless crying.  High heels.  Milk stain. No lipstick.  Coffee, coffee!  Pantyhose? Out the door:  purse, breakfast, lunch, jacket, files, backpacks, extra milk, wipes, keys, phone, alarm ON! Trial suit, Trial wig.  My Fit.  Shaun T.  Housekeeper pregnant.  No milk.  Tide Pen!  Deadline. Cross exam.  Exhibit sticker.  I’m ready.  Traffic!  Politicking.  Rear-ended.  Air bag.  How much? Discover points? Deductible.  Rental car.  Dodge Neon!  Sunday Mass.  RCIA.   Ceiling hole.  No phone.  No internet.  Leaking faucet.  Service call.  Bonus?  529? 401k? SEP?  Shooting.  Call-outs.  I’m awake.  Don’t say anything.  I’m coming.  What street?  What time?  Who’s this? 

So keep trying, fellow AWM’s, but you will never be busier than me.  No one.  No way.  Can’t be.  Nuh-uh. Get lost.    Eff you.  Ain’t happening.  Keep dreaming.  You wish.  Poser.  My ass.  No day.  Nice try.  Keep talking.  HA!  Bitch, pleeez.  Aim high.  Don’t even.  Not likely.  For real.  Shut up!  So lame.  All mine.   You jest. B-team. Move on.  Take a hike.  No game.  Ahhh ya mama.  Likely story.  Dream on.  Just wrong.  No pity.  U crizazy.  Cheap talk.  Bite me.  Bullshit.  You lie.  Ridiculous.  You can’t.  Pure fiction.  Sez who?  No kidding.  As if! Clue in.  Oh hale no!  What?  Eh?  I win.  You lose.