I’m so sorry. I woke up this morning and realized my blog has been way too vulgar lately. I thought it would be good to start the day off discussing my feelings on the proposed mosque at ground zero. Show my other side. My political side. My sensible Sylvia side regarding thoughts on world events. So I began doing a little research.
Ok, I tried. BUT CLEARLY my need is to keep you all updated on getting a man (or keeping the one you have) is stronger. Bedazzling is OUT, Vatoo-ing is in. Yes, a nice washable pubic tattoo. Note the majority of mama’s post birth may not be able to pull it off (any baby belly left?) but the world is your oyster to you shaved ladies! I’m really looking forward to see the creativity that goes into it.
Personally, I’d like to see the artwork of an aboriginal hunter coming out of the bush displayed.
i mentioned to my sister yesterday that i purchased a *Bedazzler* and was VERY excited to start *Bedazzling* my world. She asked if, “I was planning on “bedazzling” my, err……. “zone” (for lack of a better term).
Oh Sweet Maud. Is this the new trend? Apparently so. OK, I’m going to date myself here, but since when did chicks have to work so hard to impress a man? I mean, you have:
landing strip waxing or total baldness (Pedifile Couture as I refer to it)
And now…………Bedazzling?. I’ll go out on a limb to say Bedazzling is the more wimpy choice from straight out piercing (as henna is to real tattoos) but the burning question is………..why?
I can tell you, speaking from experience, I never had to work that hard to get a guy interested in having sex. Granted, these are different times, but have men become that picky? Isn’t a pretty girl in a bikini or jeans and flip flops still hot? Do they kick you out of bed and say, “MY GOD WOMAN! YOU ARE NOT BEJEWLED?”
Never have I understood George Bernard Shaw’s quote “Youth is wasted on the young” more than right at this moment.
i went to a play last week. my first in a very long time.it felt good to sit a the tiny theater and almost touch the actors. The play was about a big ol’ dysfunctional family getting together for a birthday. Crazy time. I laughed, I cried, I wept.
and then it happened……
Penises on stage. The scene was of two gay characters who jump off the couch after being caught in a love clench. Blanket comes off and there they were, their penises, alone on stage. I gasped.
It’s not like I’ve never seen a penis before, it’s because, well, they were so small. I immediately felt compassion for the two men. This is an outrage! How could the director have not took into consideration the size of their penises during casting calls?
So now I’m thrown out of *the moment* and into my own head. First, it was not that cold. I allowed some shrinkage based on the temp of the theater. Second, both circumcised so they were very neat, and very American. Now granted, the actual scene lasted about 7 seconds, but I pondered about their size for a good five minutes. Did others feel the same? Did I notice a collective intake of air? Were the men in the audience secretly comparing theirs? Were the women shocked, excited or, like me wondering…
“Waaaaaat the fuck?”
Maybe I just was thrown. It was non equity theater, not Van Nuys porn.
I’m just going to say it. Letting kids *rename* themselves is stupid. Ok, let me preface, I’m not talking about the three year old boy who wants to be called Batman, I’m talking the older child. The slightly over educated hipster kid. The kid who picks a name out of a classic novel. I purposely never use the new name just to irritate them. Yes, I’m that immature. Granted, there are some *given* names that, in my ever humble opinion, are straight up abusive to grow up with, but to quote Johnny Cash,
“Son, this world is rough And if a man’s gonna make it, he’s gotta be tough
And I knew I wouldn’t be there to help ya along.
So I give ya that name and I said goodbye
I knew you’d have to get tough or die
And it’s the name that helped to make you strong.”
my husband reminded me today that i was not your typical *latch key” kid of the 70’s. We had a nanny. Well, a better term would be………… a *manny* named *Carwash Jack*. Most mothers would not give a single man, who worked during the day at a carwash, a room in her home. That said, my mom was not your typical mom. She could size people up within 5 minutes. She knew she had nothing to fear about Carwash Jack, and she was right. We needed *nightcare* since she worked the nightshift and he was available. His hours at the carwash were 6 am till 3pm. We came home after school and there he was. Beer in one hand, Kool-aid pitcher in the other. I mostly remember him as a kind, gentle soul who pretty much let us run riot as he drank himself each night to blissful sleep. Three things stand out in my memory of him.
He collected the beer pull tabs to make chains. They hung from everywhere.
He listened to small transistor radio. Depending on the season it was either the Dodgers or The Lakers. He was, a true fan.
Sometimes I would find him crying really softly to Patsy Cline on the radio.
Sad to say I really don’t know what happened to him? My mom remarried, we moved to a respectable neighborhood and he was on his own. I know he missed us. My mom would mention that she spoke with him every now and then. They tore down the carwash, built a giant mall and he moved up north. My mom said he got a little dog. He did not have any real family and I think, my brother, mother and I filled his life (as loud and obnoxious as we all were) with some sense of being.
I’ve been thinking about all the childcare I provide for my kid lately. I like to keep her safe. This means I watch her, or someone I trust watches her.
This, was not the same for me. Let me preface by saying my mom loved me, and my friends moms loved them. It was a different time. A big trend amongst the newly divorced mamas was setting up your kid in the movie theater and their friend. You had a good two hours from drop off to pick up unless the mama’s *date* was getting dinner and banged, then you did a double feature. Roughly 5 hours. (i love the word *banged* btw)
I recall one mama setting us up in a theater in Manhattan Beach (claim to fame as the V.D. capitol in the U.S based on the # of stewardess per square mile). She left us for a double feature + a repeat. We were sleeping when she and the theater usher shined a flashlight in our face at 1 am.
Abuse? I don’t really know?
What was abusive is her choice of movies. Soylent Green, and Logan’s Run. 10 year olds.
Oh Tom. Sing it baby. Please, enjoy the music while I skip down memory lane.
I liken Tom to the days preceding my own family’s Ice Storm. Fresh infidelity, booze, swapping (ok, I don’t know that for sure, but it sounds fitting) and a library of vinyl. It was different times. Personally, i think women (and men) were sexier back then. Other than that brief morning ritual of Ponds Cold Creme and a house dress, my mom rocked her heels and skirts everyday. That woman could vacuum, dust and get her fondue pot pre heated in the same time a woman of today takes to microwave a Hot Pocket. My dad, same thing. The man had a skinny tie, polished shoes and a hefty dose of Old Spice on before he fired up the Impala.
Adults of today wimps.
Now, the fact that he was screwing everything in site and my mom pulled a revolver on him are besides the point.
i see now that my surly disposition was intact 43 years ago. i felt confident to push my baby doll one handed on the city streets, and at the same time wanting to kick the anonymous photographer’s ass for taking so long. welcome to my blog.