BlabberMouse

It's Independence Day

And what song is stuck in my head? The Star Spangled Banner? No. America the Beautiful? Please.

No, the song that has been thrumming through my head all week is Independence Day, Martina McBride's overwrought anthem for battered women.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with this song by Gretchen Peters, allow me to summarize its salient points:

Cute eight-year-old girl goes to the county fair on the Fourth of July while her drunk abusive father beats the crap out of her mother. Because the mother can't take any more of the father's shit, she burns their house down with both of them in it. They die, and the little girl is sent to a group home.

It's very festive.

You know, I get what the writer was saying. Sort of. Although I don't necessarily advocate lighting yourself on fire when you want to declare your independence from abuse. Surely there's a better way?

What's hilarious is that Martina McBride insists that the mother doesn't die at the end of the song. She says she never would have recorded it if she felt like the mother died.

Umm ... okay. If you say so.

Well, she lit up the sky that Fourth of July
By the time that the firemen come
They just put out the flames and took down some names
and sent me to the county home
Now I ain't sayin' it's right, or it's wrong
But maybe it's the only way
Talk about your revolution
It's Independence Day

Yes, it's all very clear to me now. One of the handsome fireman was taking down the mother's name. So he could ask her out. And the daughter went to the group home, so her mom could have some "mommy time" with the nice volunteer firefighter. And then they all ate blueberry pie for breakfast the next morning.

It's a happy song after all. And now Martina and I can both enjoy Independence Day.

I hope you all do, too.

No Theme, No Thread, No Problem.

That's a Kenny Chesney song waiting to happen. Don't deny it.

I wasn't even going to post tonight, but then I saw this link on Twitter, and I had to share it with you.

You didn't click on it, did you?

Because you don't know what it is, right?

It could be monkey porn, for all you know.

I hear you.

I hate it when bloggers are all, I am totally loving THIS, and THIS, and OMG, WAIT TILL YOU SEE THIS!

Life is short. SPECIFICITY is our friend.

So I'll tell you. It's a series of pictures called Photobombers ("People who hilariously ruin your nice little picture"). And it will probably make you laugh harder than it should.

In other news, I found this annoying:

Encountered a grown woman at Panera this weekend while dining with my four year old son. She was chatting away with her male companion, eating a sandwich, while kneeling in the booth. But not kneeling like an older person kneels to, say, weed a garden (which would be weird enough). She was kneeling the way a kneecap-less two year old kneels while watching Teletubbies. Butt flat on the seat. Legs folded under at each side. Bobbing her head cutely, like "Look at me! So tiny and nimble! A free-spirit! Like a baby, almost! Except that I have breasts. And a driver's license that says I'm almost 40."

Allrightythen.

Going for a hat trick:

Number of times today I have checked celebritybabyblog.com to see if Angelina has given birth to her twins: 11 12 13 times. 

Editor's Note: I have now checked 14 times.

Ride Me, Big Boy!

I try not to judge.

I really do.

But there are limits.

And when I see a grown man, decked out in a helmet, peddling down the street on a recumbent bicycle, the seat of which is only eleven inches off the ground, my inner jury slaps down a verdict faster than you can say 40-year-old virgin.

What is UP with that?

It's like a unicycle had sex with a wheelchair.

I did a little research in an attempt to understand this phenomenon, and found a web site that explains the advantage of riding this type of ... apparatus.

It reads: "Because the rider is seated in a comfortable reclining position, pressure on the groin area is greatly reduced."

This is a euphemism, of course, for: "Because the rider has elected to broadcast the fact that he is a COMPLETE AND TOTAL NERD, no woman will want to get in his pants. EVER."

Her Blog is Here, Well Actually It's There

As a companion to the monthly column in Her Nashville, I'll be writing a weekly blog for their online magazine as well, which will be posted on Fridays. You can read the first post (a follow up to "Coming Clean") here.

I'm With Her

Quick Newsflash before I go to work:

The premiere issue of Her Nashville hits the stands today; you can pick up your free copy wherever you find the City Paper. So if you're in the Nashville area, run out and get you one. It's pink, and it's wonderful, and I say the word HELL in it.

(Also amusing, opposite my column is a big ad congratulating the lovely and talented (can't say a bad word about this girl) Taylor Swift on all of her accomplishments. She is clutching a blue guitar and smiling rather tightly. I don't think she likes me.)

Planned Giving

Someone told me that if you check the Organ Donor box on the back of your driver's license, medical personnel are more likely to let you die if an accident leaves you clinging to life.

Surely this is an urban legend, right? Because I am not comfortable with this information at all. Talk about kicking a lady when she's down.

I signed up online to be an organ donor a few years ago, but today I noticed that I hadn't checked the little box on the back of my license, specifying  the type of "anatomical gift" I wish to make.

After seeing the WHOLE BODY option, I got to thinking I might like to specify a smaller anatomical gift. Because I mean, WHOLE BODY? Isn't that kind of over-the-top, considering I don't even know the person I'm giving it to?

At the same time, I don't want to seem cheap.

What do you think would be the organ equivalent of like a really nice hostess gift? A gift that says “I don’t know you ... but thanks for having me?”

I guess it just depends what statement you want to make. For example, if I wanted to give them something really thoughtful, then my brain would be the obvious choice. But then they'd also be pumped if I gave them my heart. Or I could go the neighborly route, and give them a hand. Or play it cool, and give them some skin.

I'm killing myself.

Wait, not really. Put the scalpel down! Jesus. 

It's strange. I haven't even figured out what I'm going to give my mom for her birthday in two weeks. And yet, here I am, thinking about some hypothetical strangers, and wondering if in the end, I’ll be able to say I gave them my all.

10 Things I Just Need to Accept About Myself

1. I should only wear black.
2. Not pink.
3. Or green.
4. Or, God forbid, red.
5. Not preppy patterns. Or bohemian prints.
6. I am happy in black. And thus,
7. When shopping, to save time, I should reach only for clothes that are black, or
8. Black, or
9. If I'm feeling particularly daring ...
10. BLACK.

Sucess, Wealth, Status? You Name It.

Remember those rotisserie chickens Brittany Murphy piled under her bed in Girl Interrupted? That’s me with my society magazines. No matter that they leave me feeling bloated and empty, I just can’t get enough of those juicy, delicious rich people. Mmm! Which got me thinking. Perhaps I should put my guilty pleasure to more constructive purposes, and stop hoarding the wealth (no pun intended) of information I’ve gleaned over the years.

So, without further adieu, a primer on naming your child so that he or she is well positioned for a life of charitable giving***.

When Naming Boys:

It is smart to choose a name that reminds people of money and/or being the best. Worth, Stock, Sterling, Topper and Buck are all excellent choices. But don’t overdo it! Names like Cash and Chase, while they appear to fit the bill, can make you sound too eager (read: desperate). Best to taper that enthusiasm and choose something more earthy and civilized like Gardner, or Thorne.

When Naming Girls:

It is nice to choose a name that reminds people of a vagina. Vee Vee, Muffy, Madge, Boo Boo and Bitts are delightful, feminine names that seem to attract men who are named after money. If your tastes run more traditional, it is also acceptable to name your daughter Elizabeth while calling her something ridiculous, like Birdie or Snoop. Understand that it is de rigeur to blame the precious nickname on your older son, Sterling Stockworth III, who, upon the birth of his sister,  couldn’t pronounce the name Elizabeth if his trust fund depended on it. 

***DISCLAIMER: Blabbermouse.net is not intended to be a substitute for an actual rich person. Always seek the advice of a wealthy friend, relative or other trusted high net-worth individual with any questions you may have regarding naming your baby for success in philanthropy or other high-society pursuits. Never disregard an actual rich person’s advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on Blabbermouse.net.

Overheard at Work

Girl A:
I'm going to shave my head.

Girl B:
OH MY GOD! SWEETIE, NO! Don't shave your head! That's a terrible idea!

Girl A:
I'm so depressed. I'm shaving my head.

Girl B:
If you're in a funk, you shouldn't shave your head. You should buy a new outfit.

Girl A:
I hate shopping.

Girl B:
(STUNNED SILENCE)

Girl A:
I've always hated shopping for clothes.

Girl B:
(Genuinely confused) But you look so girly, though. Were you like a tom boy or something?

Girl A:
Actually, I was a cheerleader.

Girl B:
I don't understand. How could you be a cheerleader if you didn't like shopping?

Pooling His Resources

A friend of mine, who works for a toy company, asked if Gus and I would be interested in modeling some of their water gear ... Water wings, rafts, rings, that sort of stuff.

"I need a photo of a mom and a four year old  boy," he said.

Hmmm ...

"I'll pay you each $50 and buy you dinner and drinks," he said.

SOLD!

Actually, I wasn't that easy. There were some negotiations.

Of course, my friend also had the option of hiring real models. But why would he do that when I am such a natural in front of the camera?

Why hire someone to "act" like a mom, when I radiate warmth and motherly love so effortlessly?

Admit it. I'm glowing.

And you want a pair of those Swimmies.

Coming soon to a Wal-Mart near you!