Month: July 2015

Women Against WHAAA?

I heard about a tumblr page called “Women Against Feminism,” so I decided to check it out to see what could possibly even be going on there. It is written by people who clearly do not know what the word “feminism” means. It really makes my blood boil. My inner monologue is like, “Why are all these freakin’ idiots allowed to post things on the internet, GAWD!” (In a Napoleon Dynamite voice). Then, “I feel like I’m taking crazy pills!” (In a Mugatu from Zoolander voice). My brain defaults to comedic movie voices when I get angry. This has to be some sort of weird defense mechanism.

Homemade Play Doh Makes Me Stabby

I need Play-Doh for my son’s birthday party, and can’t find anywhere that sells it in Williamsburg or Greenpoint. Of course I can think of like 9 places to get hand-carved organic wooden mustache blocks, but nowhere to just get regular Play-Doh. I would ask my mom friends but they would just all tell me to make my own, and then I would have to stab them.

Peanut BUTTer Sandwich

When I picked up my daughter from camp today her teacher came over to talk to me. She said sadly, “She might be hungry, when it was lunchtime I asked where her sandwich was and she said it disappeared. Then a little boy stood up and it was stuck to his butt. She didn’t want to eat it after that.” I think she thought I would be upset, but I can’t stop laughing.

Passive-Aggressive Lullaby

“Please don’t kick mommy in the faaaace, I really hate it, I’m sorry, I still love you thouuuuuuugh.”
“You’re just so big and strong, and I know it isn’t your faaaaaaault, but if you keep kicking me I’ll have to stop nursing you and I know that would be saaaaaad.”
“All my shirts and bras are ripped up from you pulling on theeeeeem, when you stop breastfeeding I’m going to dress so cute you have no ideaaaaaa.”
“I love you so much and know I should be enjoyiiiiiiing these precious moments like everyone says after their kids are growwwwwwwn.”
“But people who say that probably haven’t spent half their dayyyyyy being kicked in the face by a baby gorillaaaaaa.”
-My slightly passive-aggressive lullaby to my large 1 year-old son as I nurse him to sleep (sort of to the tune of Rock-a-Bye Baby)