Miss Freakazoid USA


There was a time when I was able to digest beauty pageants without having to chug an antacid straight from the bottle, but that time has long passed.


 I caught a glimpse of the Miss USA contestant mannequins on the news yesterday.

 What began as an all-around competition in beauty, talent and intelligence has evolved into something completely unnatural and more notably, unachievable for the majority of the female population.

 It feels all wrong to support this tomfoolery.

 The contestants are mutant women for Gods sake.

 It would better be depicted… Miss Potato Head USA.

 It goes something like this.

 Your starter kit contains a perfect medium sized potato (the genetic lottery probably drops one in every couple of hundred-ish. I don’t know what the actual statistics are, but let’s face it, you’re either born with it or you’re not) boobs, lips, eyelashes, brows, perky noses and cheekbones.


 From there, the contestant is to acquire as many upgrades as possible and subsequently diet and exercise until they wither down to the size of a small French fry.

 Not just a regular straight-cut fast food fry either. We’re talking crinkle cut with the curves and indentations in all the RIGHT places.

 When did beauty queens begin to resemble low end body builders?


 It’s been a long time since I’ve paid attention to this hoopla, so it’s all new to me and quite frankly, it gives me innnn-dig-estion…

 What used to be a perfectly natural 10 has evolved into a perfectly enhanced 20.

 Who looks like this?

 Well, yeah THEY do and so does Barbie.

 The point is… this package doesn’t occur spontaneously in nature.


 It’s painfully altered.

 I’m not discrediting women for being in pristine athletic condition, but add various facial reconstruction, fake boobs so on and so forth and you have something that’s entirely enhanced and unreal.

 My biggest beef (the kind that’s dripping fat and melted cheese) is that we as society are promoting unrealistic role models.

 It’s just TOO MUCH.

 Girls have enough pressure these days without society constantly manipulating and rising the bar for perfect.

 Yes, I aspire for my daughters to be beautiful, intelligent, educated, poised, physically fit women… but not all of the above… at the same time.


 Just Hell no.

 Intelligence is good enough.

 Educated is good enough.

 Physically fit for your body type is good enough.

 Graceful confidence is good enough.

 Compassionate and caring are good enough.

 You are good enough.

 Girls should be encouraged to celebrate who the ARE and what they’ve accomplished without having their self esteem BEAUTY-CROWN-BLOCKED by continually revised over-the-top standards.

 That’s the equivalent being cock blocked except we’re referring to ones self esteem.

 I threw that in there so you’d pay attention.

 Cock blocked. <-There it is again.

 I guess you can safely say that I’m not a fan of beauty pageants.

 I also happen to think the whole Toddlers and Tiara’s charade borders on child abuse… in the mental sense, but that’s an entirely different post.


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The Ugly Truth about Mother’s Day


Now that we’ve all had some time to recover, I think it’s time to talk about why Mother’s Day sucks rotten eggs and stinky baseball cleats.

Better yet, let’s have a “My Mother’s Day Sucked Worse than Yours” contest.

I’ll try not to win THIS one.

It’s like this…

You’re mom- The Family Goddess, Supreme Ruler of the Kingdom, The Almighty Healer of EVERYTHING that goes awry.

You’re pretty much the shit.

Nobody can begin to do it quite like you do.


Men and children (yes, they belong in the same category) are dropped on this planet oblivious and many never overcome this perpetual state of cluelessness.

It’s okay because we love them dearly.

Mom’s clearly have the edge. It’s just the way it is.

The good news is, it’s UNIVERSAL and misery loves company.

(((group hug, neighbor)))

I remember having big hopes and dreams for a perfect Mother’s Day filled with rest, peace and pampering, just like the dorky Hallmark commercials.

Then Mother Nature laughed..


Good one, but no. Not unless you clone yourself.

Dear Hallmark, you’re a bunch of dream shattering lying bastards and I hope you get a paper cut on your eyeball from one of your own over dramatized and sappy cards.

Let’s scratch out REST.


The Stages of Mothers Day-

When your offspring are still lovable tator tots, you may get breakfast in bed which consists of Frootloops, coffee, a hand picked daffodil and a gluey mess of a card they made in school. (thank you teachers)

I’m not really sure it ever get’s better than THIS.

Embrace this, because THIS is IT.

Then they get older.

The coveted handmade gifts and cards come to a screeching halt and they may or may not stick around for breakfast.


If you’re lucky, they take you out to breakfast and Big Daddy pays.

The thoughtful bucket has sprung a leak. From here on end, it’s all down hill.

Now, you’ve become grateful if they can manage to refrain from swearing and fist-fighting in your presence for one lousy day and possibly show a shred of appreciation for good measure.

You taught them better, right?

Crap. Now you’re guilty of THAT too.

They suck and it’s all YOUR fault.

It’s the full circle of always-the-moms-fault.

Which is why I’ve adopted the proactive approach to Mother’s Day.

It doesn’t feel right to unleash my brood into the world until they’re properly trained in Mother’s Day etiquette.

Their spouses will thank me some day and if they don’t, obviously it’s their mothers fault.

*giggle of irony*

I gave each of my four children a sort of multiple choice list of (mostly) stuff I’d like done around the house, and for my artistic girls, drawings and such that I’d enjoy.

Easy peasy. Spelled it right out.

Are you ready for my miserable report?

#3 finished vacuuming at 10 pm Mother’s Day night and only because I lost my shit.

#2 completed 50% of his offerings. He washed the dogs. I’ll take it.

And, #1 and #4 have been granted extensions because no way am I letting them off the hook.

So there you have it.  The ugly truth.

My rug is clean and my dogs don’t stink. At least we’re making progress.

I guess they REALLY don’t know what to do or how to act without the Queens guidance, which is why I will always reign as Almighty Mom-  Supreme Ruler of the Kingdom.

It’s a mom thing…

Welcome to the club.

How was YOUR Mother’s Day?

Would you like a side of charcoal with that?


What is it?

Answer- they USED to be French fries, but NOW they’re charcoal sticks.

They actually WRITE.

Of course I tried it. It’s the first thing I did. (I drew a smiley face)

No shit.

The REAL question here is… am I proud or horrified?

My 19 y/o was making french fries last night, they caught fire and he extinguished it. The End.

I woke up to powdery fire-putter-outter-stuff all over the counter.

Cleaned it up, made coffee and haven’t missed a beat.

I file this under… Everyday shit.

By EVERY day, I mean it wasn’t our first fire.

Also, my kids are pretty damned cool under pressure.

I like that.