This would be awesome if it were true.

This was MSNBC‘s home page earlier this week.

So I see this and I’m all, no WAY did a condom company use Beat It in their ad campaign. Because Sheik, that’s a condom brand right? And then I think, how freakin’ BRILLIANT. BEAT IT?!? And within seven seconds I see the actual commercial — staring Jemaine from Flight of the Conchords, no less — unfold in my head. It’s so awesome, that I’m sure Sheik must be a Nordic company because those crazy ass Swedes are the ones always making hilarious, raunchy ads that would never get air time in the U.S.

At any rate, no doubt MJ’s pissed because I’m sure Sheik didn’t actually ASK to use the song. Hence the lawsuit. You know if they HAD asked, he’d never go for it. Helluuu? Um, Gloved One??

But then it dawns on me the theme song would actually be counter-intuitive. Because if you’re using a condom, you’re probably not … er … yeah. When I finally DID click on the link, the story was about an actual sheik and NOT condoms.

And I was a little sad because I really, really liked the idea.

Then I scrolled down and saw the astronaut urine story, and perked right up.

Stupid choices and dumb luck.

Look at this little douche.

He’s SMILING. It’s after 3 a.m. Saturday morning. He’s just been in a major collision. He’s flipped his truck after allegedly making a left turn in front of an oncoming car. According to sources, he’s being charged with misdemeanor DUI. Misdemeanor, because his female passenger and the driver of the other car miraculously suffered only minor bumps and bruises. Because it wasn’t THAT bad.

And he’s SMILING.

Shia LaBeouf, I like you. But I swear to God, given the opportunity right now, I’d smack that grin right off your stupid ass face. Because you’re an idiot.

I know of what I speak. My father’s had two DUIs. One when I was a kid; the other when I was in high school. My brother’s had one. I was LIVID with each of them. SO incredibly pissed off.

I was hit by a drunk driver in college, as a friend and I drove to the movies. One minute things were fine, the next, the back seat of my ’76 Honda Civic no longer existed. Had the collision taken place a split second earlier, the outcome would have, most likely, been very different.

And yet, with all that history, I’m ashamed to admit, back in the day, I myself got behind the wheel WAY too many times when I absolutely shouldn’t have. I have a hard time thinking about what could have happened.

But now, as a mother, I imagine my MP riding shotgun beside a boy like Shia some day. Or worse, doing exactly as I did, driving a little loaded and not giving it a second thought. And I’m livid once more.

The outrage I feel when I look at that stupid smirking mug shot is multiplied by the recognition of my own youthful stupidity. Because if I’m being judgmental — and I am — understand that first and foremost, I’m judging my past self. I’m owning the idiocy. I’m admitting a complete and utter disregard for the safety of myself, or more importantly others, that could have so easily turned tragic.

I think of all the others that will make equally stupid choices and am compelled to pray for the safety of my child.

And I’m pissed.

Image borrowed from these guys.

Wait … Will Smith is BLACK?!?

Match Will Smith’s head to his beach body.

Um … I guess … A.

No, no … E.

Crapper. H. It has to be H.

I’m having a little trouble.

It’s not like HE’S THE ONLY BLACK GUY IN A SEA OF WHITE GUYS.

US Magazine, you know I love ya, Babe.

But YOU are RI.DI.CU.LOUS.

Wrong Cathouse, Hef

MOOOOMMM!!

Mr. Hefner’s back.

What does he want now?

He’s looking for Paris.

He’s got the wrong cathouse. Tell him she left awhile ago.

Okay, but he doesn’t look so good. He’s kinda OLD.

I know, Honey. Just send him on his way. The cathouse he’s looking for is much bigger.

What about the three ladies holding him up?

Them too.

How to meet a billionaire and make an impression.

So, not last week but the week before, 24 robbers came knocking on my door I had a little brush with fame and fortune.

Billionaire Media Mogul Ted Turner was in town and was the guest of honor at a casual work thing. I’ll refrain from publishing my long-standing personal opinion of the guy — he knows where I work (and could probably have me killed fired). Suffice it to say, he has a long … history in this town. Yeah.

Anyhoo, I asked my boss in advance if he’d try to get a photo of me with Mr. T. In all honesty, I had no desire to actually MEET the man, but had high hopes for a shot of me making rabbit ears behind him. Or at least doin’ the air kiss. Instead, as I jockeyed for position, Bossman unexpectedly shoved me into our special guest, held up my camera phone and asked if I could have a picture with him. I think he might have even said, “she reeeaally wants one.” Did I mention he’s a JACKASS?

Duuuh. Nice to meet you Ted.

Are you feelin’ the HOLY AWKWARD MOMENT yet? Check out my face — that’s a cross between utter mortification and mighty restraint right there, people. Because even at this precise moment, I wanted to make the crazy face. What is wrong with me? (Besides that hair. Ecch.)

Then Ted and I had a little convo. Within 20 seconds, (girlfriend? wife?) Not Jane flew in from the sidelines. Ted, now wedged between Not Jane and Crazy Stalker Chick (that would be me), and clearly even MORE uncomfortable, fell over himself to introduce her. And I wanted so badly to break out laughing, because knowing that even Ted Turner is on a short leash is … funny.

Eventually event-goers made their way to the bar.

The people watching was most excellent.

And a glass of wine later, Grammy called to say she forgot to pick up MP and could I do it, seeing as preschool closed in 10 minutes and I was closer than she was?

Back to Mommy As Usual.

Sex in the City Countdown!

Ms. Single Mama alerted me to the news that the Sex in the City movie is coming out MAY 30!

Color me HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY!

The trailer gives a lot away, but after doing a little research, I’ve learned a small detail you may or may not have heard about. Someone dies. What?!? My money’s on Big. (Which, sadly, would be eerily similar to my life …)

I’ve wanted to try out a poll widget and thought this would be as good a topic as any to give her a test run. I REALLY wanted to place it over in the sidebar to run all month, but am quickly finding out WordPress sucks widgety eggs.

So, after HOURS of hair-pulling, I’ve learned that for the time being, all I can do is incorporate a lame link:

Yippee! The Sex in the City movie opens MAY 30! What character is most like you?
( surveys)

In the meantime, just in case the poll DOESN’T work, which is entirely possible, leave a comment as well so we can all revel in the return of the ladies!

If you need a character refresher, you can check out HBO’s cast page. And since I’m all about equal opportunity, I included some of the SITC men in the poll, if you happen to not be a member of the fairer sex. (Or, if you are a member of the fairer sex, but identify more with one of the dudes.)

What character most closely resembles you? If you were a character from Sex in the City, which one would you be?

(In case you missed the link the first time, here it is again. C’mon, take the poll. Everyone’s doing it …)

Yippee! The Sex in the City movie opens MAY 30! What character is most like you?
( surveys)

As for me, I’d have to say Carrie (Ahem. Hellooo, she IS the star.), with a little Samantha for good measure.

I’m fairly certain they don’t enjoy the GPs as much as I do though …

Holy Bladder Control Issue

This TOTALLY made my week.

what_celebrities_would_look_like_if_they_moved.ppt

Wash My Mouth Out With Soap

Jane Fonda dropped the C-bomb on the Today Show Thursday, and people are freaking OUT.

People, it’s a WORD. Albeit, by societal standards, a pretty bad one, but just the same … a WORD.

As a lover of words, the notion that ANY word could be bad, strikes me as fundamentally wrong. A word, bad? Really? Who says? When you boil it down, what are words really? Sounds. When you think about it that way, doesn’t it all seems rather … absurd?

Right about now you’re thinking I must be a big fat filthy toilet mouth, but if you’ve read the archives at all, you know I’m not much of a swearer. (This will actually be an F-bomb first in this blog.) Because I embrace the English lexicon does not mean I choose to use every word in it. (I don’t find much occasion to use lachrymose or sabulous either…)

I do admit however, sometimes a good FUCK just feels good …

Ba da bump.

Bear with me – here comes the complete and total hypocracy.

MOMMYPIE HOUSE RULES

Bad Word: Butt
Good Words: Tush, Tushy

Bad Word: Fart
Good Word: Toot

Bad Word: Hate
Good Words: Don’t like

Bad Words: Shut up
Good Words: Be quiet

Word only to be said when praying or making a reference: God
All other times, substitute with: Gosh, Goodness

So, you see my dilemma. I’m philosophically at odds.

It’s ingrained. In me. In everyone. In every culture. Certain words are always going to have a (sometimes illogical) stigma attached. I don’t know how many times as a kid I had my mouth washed out with soap — LAVA, even! — for sassing. The consequences of uttering an actual swear word were … *shiver* too frightening to imagine.

From the New York Times
(I’m off on a tangent, but this is a really interesting article):
“Researchers have also examined how words attain the status of forbidden speech and how the evolution of coarse language affects the smoother sheets of civil discourse stacked above it. They have found that what counts as taboo language in a given culture is often a mirror into that culture’s fears and fixations.”

(Hmmm … Keeping this in mind, as I think about it, most of our culture’s “bad” words relate to sex or bodily functions. Discuss.)

I don’t much care if other people swear. (It’s only annoying when it’s every other word — comparable to the irritation I feel when someone says “like” or “ah” or “you know” every other sentence.) But like most parents, I don’t want my child around it. Let alone repeating it. (There’s that damn hypocracy again …)

Like the time about seven months ago MP, standing with an impish smile in the middle of Grammy’s kitchen … let it fly.

“Fuck. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.”

The sucking sound as all air left the room was deafening. I was horrified. (Turns out she heard it at preschool … honestly!)

Hypocrite, I know. I know!

It’s a conundrum.

A Seinfeld Moment

So, we’re racing to gymnastics this morning, right on the verge of being late (business as usual), and about 100 yards from the gym, traffic slows to a stop. We see flashing red lights ahead. We’ve come to a train crossing, and a L-O-N-G train is S-L-O-W-L-Y making its way across the road.

“Aaarrgghhh!” I say, frustrated.

And from the back seat, a heavy, exasperated sigh. “Newman!”

That’s my girl.

The Pancake Princess

February 12, National Pancake Day. AS IN TODAY. Hellooo – how could I not have known about this until this afternoon?!? You realize what this means of course.

Buckle up Baby, Mama’s takin’ you to IHOP for a free shortstack!

Being the generous daughter I am, I called Grammy and Poppy and offered to take them to dinner. MP sampled all five syrups, and surprised everyone by eating nearly all three of her complimentary pancakes. She actually ate more than I did, which is a first — I’m chalking it up to a growth spurt. Unbelievably, she even sat in her seat the entire meal.

And topping off a memorable night … a PRINCESS. What are the chances? Watching MP’s face as she studied Miss Montana (yes, the real Miss Montana) serving pancakes in a tiara and apron (with an official pageant photographer in tow, if you can believe it) was priceless. ‘Riveted’ doesn’t begin to describe.

I, myself, was riveted by the pure cheesy goodness of a beauty queen in a pancake house.

You’re asking yourself, “can it get any better?”

After a warm bath, a squeaky clean MP and her full tummy crawled into bed and fell instantly, deeply asleep.

IHOP is magic.