Mommy with a Penis

This is for the soldiers over at Dad Blogs ... I've had to polish my armor, sharpen my broadsword and am about to mount my high horse. I am going off to war. My opponent, my insidious, wily and downright lowdown opponent will spin fabrication at the drop of a hat. She is a fiendish foe whose goal is to wear me down and make me feel my voice insignificant. Oh, you, fiery hound of Hell, stand back. Because I am now armed with truth and am not afraid of battling you who shall not be named. You gnarled root ball. You canker blossom. You thorny thistle. But enough mystery! I must reveal your identity, call you by your true self, for I am not afraid of unleashing unending misery upon the lands. That is simply myth. I officially throw down the gauntlet Board of Ed ! Your move. It started innocently enough. Well, he is a boy, after all. I'm sure he'll catch up. And I chose to believe that my son's physical and mental growth was still within average range. This is what I know no...

Right after my son asked if he could eat a dog biscuit, I took the empty suitcase downstairs to store in the basement. I don't know why but it takes me forever to unpack after a vacation. Stowing the suitcase made me think of the incident. There've been many unanswered questions. Lots of speculation. And buckets of concern about our rocky mountain car accident . My husband sustains aches and pains, but my emotional scarring has scabbed over. At the time, I could only write short posts from my iPhone. (A technological feat I'm still amazed I accomplished.) But now I'm ready to fill in the juicy details... It was at my insistence. "Michael, it's Sebastian's Spring break. We ARE going away." Really, I had only one restriction. Had to be driving distance. Air travel is just too much of a hassle these days, and t'aint cheap. I found a place in Lake Arrowhead, up in the mountains. This is going to be good, I thought. An adventure. Before we left, Micha...

This title might not be as subtle as Sally Field's Oscar acceptance speech for Places in the Heart , "You like me, right now, you like me!" However, in starting this blog, I'll be honest, I wasn't sure where this would take me: one man show, television pilot, Oprah's Book Club. And while all of those barely simmer on the back burner, this week has brought some wonderful gifts and I thought I'd share them with you... First up, Vodka Mom. I was just doing my own thing, writing irreverent blog posts. And BAM , dozens, count em, DOZENS of comments came rolling in. Many of these new visitors said that Vodka Mom had sent them, that she would kick their collective asses if they did not click on over to my blog!! So I go to Vodka Mom's Blog and first thing I see is my picture. And the link. In two days I gained 40 plus followers, and all thanks to her. A big warm welcome to those of you who decided to drink my Kool -Aid. And a huge sloppy cyber kiss to Vodk...

I have just possibly done the gayest thing in my entire life. I changed my ring tone to the theme song from Maude . Of course this choice is in homage to the legendary deadpan Bea Arthur who passed away Saturday morning. (I guess my other choice could have been Thank You for Being a Friend from The Golden Girl s. Yeah, not so much.) As a matter of fact, I was so taken with the moment, I not only bought And Then There's Maude , but the entire Bea Arthur on Broadway: Just Between Friends album on iTunes. (Can I still say album? It sounds so wrong.) When I first met Michael he would do this weird thing. He'd say a joke and then to punch the laugh he'd look away and do a take. Thing is, the take would be to no one. I finally pieced together that my man goes nowhere without his invisible camera. He was practicing his Bea Arthur technique, the standard comedic ba- dah -bum rhythm. Think of the typical Dorothy moment on The Golden Girls : "Shut up, Rose,"- beat -take t...

Writing about gay marriage in the previous post made me think of the following story... Once upon a time, Little Chicken was living his fab twinkbottom life in West Hollywood when he stumbled upon the fact that Burger King gave money in support of Prop 8. He said to himself, "They think heterosexual marriage is more legit than homosexual marriage." And with that, Little Chicken flipped his apricot lowlights and said, "The lie is galling. The lie is galling! I must go to the Times and expose Burger King." On the way to the Times Office Downtown, Little Chicken ran into his bulldyke buddy Henna Placenta (not her real name) who was coming out of her tattoo parlor. Little Chicken called out to her, "Henna Placenta, Henna Placenta, did you hear Burger King gave money in support of Prop 8?" Henna Placenta torqued her head, cracked her neck and said, "That makes my blood boil. But what can we do?" "Well, I'm on my way to the Times Office Downto...

I haven't watched a beauty contest in ages. I'm just not that kind of queen. As a kid I would always root for my home state to win. I would insist she was the prettiest, the most talented, had the best taste in shoes. And from what I hear, Sunday night was no exception for Miss California. She was the front runner of the evening's events. And then in this Miss USA Pageant, like in all Miss USA Pageants, she had to go through the question/answer portion of the evening. And that's when Miss California opened her mouth... A transcript... Perez Hilton: Vermont recently became the forth state to legalize same sex marriage. Do you think every state should follow suit? Why or why not? (A tricky question, a basket of asps Obama doesn't like to touch, but still she might be able to finesse an articulate response. Mightn't she? She is a resident of left-leaning California after all.) Carrie Prejean, Miss California: Well, I think it's great that Americans are able t...

When I turned five, I was given a swing set for my birthday!! Yes, that's me in the center. I had a coyboy themed party with pony rides and roasted weenies. The girl on the left was my first crush. Her name was Jody. Ironically, my son, Sebastian, has a major crush in his kindergarten class with a girl named Jody as well. The girl on the right is Amity. From what I hear, she's amazingly successful living in Zurich or something. Even from this pic you can tell she would strive to the top of her field. Unfortunately, I have lost track entirely of delightful entity, simply known as Jody . I'm writing about swing sets today because over at Dad Blogs, they are giving away a tremendous redwood doozie that looks like this: A big different than what was top of the line in 1967. By writing this post, I get ten entries towards winning this for Bash and Maxie. I just have to put down some particulars. Here they be... For swing set info go to Kids Cr eations. For Dad Blogs rules and re...

Dear Madonna, It seems oddly appropriate that I start a letter to you on Easter Sunday. I have been thinking a lot about you lately, and I know first hand the pain you are going through. You want to hole up in a cave. You want to hold your children close. You are ready to strike at the first idiot who crosses your path. You feel as if your heart has been ripped out and served on an ornate platter. You want the world to shut up, because your torment is not for others' blithe entertainment. You feel no matter how long you lick, your wounds will never heal. You will bitch slap the next person who tries to create logic out of an illogical situation, and personally if anyone espouses, "it was meant to be" or "it's God's will" you have my permission to scratch their snatch out. I know this because my husband, Michael, and I have suffered through eight failed adoptions. Three birth mothers who changed their minds, an incompetent social worker, a fucking Mountai...

The place: Lake Arrowhead. Purty nuf vacation spot, but I swear life here is ess ell oh doubleyou. Restaurants close at eight. Townsfolks have the dickens of a time answering direct questions. We asked our concierge (I'm sure he doesn't call himself that) what a good family activity would be in nearby Big Bear, and with giddy glee he tells us about the Target and the Mervyn's. Oh, goody, discount stores! We leave the mountains tomorrow, drive our broken car down the hill to the desert where more adventures await.

The kids get tired so easily. I couldn't wake them up from this nap. I tickled them. Jumped on the bed. Buzzed their bellies. And they'd just roll over and go back to sleep. Perhaps I shouldn't let them eat the olives from my martini.

My husband behind the wheel. My kids in the car. My heart in my throat. First day of vacation in Lake Arrowhead.

Last night, I performed in Hollywood at the Improv Olympic West. This piece is sort of ragtag, pulled from many of my writings. The poem looking sections throughout were sung. Yes, I actually wrote lyrics and created a tune. So, for those of you who couldn't make the show, I present... Come on. You can do it. Pppppp. That’s right. Lips together. Pppppp. Like you’re blowing a bubble. Ppppp. Papa. It’s that easy. You can do it smart boy. Papa. Just forget you shouldn’t be able to do plosives for thirteen months. That’s it! That’s it! Lips together. "Mama." What? No, you couldn’t have... What? *** Our oldest, Sebastian, uttered his first word at twelve months. It was Cosmo. Cosmo is our overly needy husky. He was named after the libation, and takes medication for separation anxiety. Sebastian's second word was Dada. And shortly after that, Mama. Michael and I always knew we were going to adopt. But we didn’t fully examine the care taking end of it. I think we both assume...

My daughter comes up to me, big smile on her face, Band-Aid on her forehead. I size up the situation and know what I must do. My fingers tingle as my whole being fills with anticipation. Maxie steps closer saying something about Black Doggie. I quickly ignore her two year old prattle, and focus on the task at hand. I only have one shot, and I don't want to blow it. One more step, her face open, her eyes full of trust. DON'T. I can't afford any sentimentality. Sentimentality clouds the judgement. And it is clear...abundantly clear the course of action I must take. Now I'm in the zone. Maxie begins to lean in. Her mouth parts, eyes blink. Wait for it. All my focus goes to ripping off that motherfuckin' Band-Aid. Three...two... Why do kids go ape shit over Band-Aids? (I probably should have written adhesive bandages instead of the brand name, but like most Americans I also refer to tissues as Kleenex, gelatin as Jell-O, and change as Obama.) Every time I buy a box of ...