Archive | July, 2011

Power to the Mommies

25 Jul

Mothers of the world rejoice! As we all know, statistics and studies abound in this day and age. I’m proud to announce that our united female front has taken the lead in a vital social one.  How have our strollers trudged along to make inroads into male domination? We moms have more online influence than our husbands.

Ok, shopping supremacy might not be the big revolutionary gain we have aspired to. But tech and other consumer businesses have started paying attention to those diaper buried, food-encrusted wallets. Face it. Moms buy most of the household purchases. According to, our combined mommy spending power in the U.S. alone accounts for around $2.1 trillion a year. And with money comes influence.

In addition to this spending trend, mothers old and new have embraced smart phones at a quicker pace than our male counterparts. According to NPD market research company, the number of moms who bought iPhones surged 132 percent over the same quarter of last year, making them the fast growing demographic. Men’s purchase levels only rose 121 percent. Sorry boys. Get your head into the game and you might be able to beat us next quarter.

What does this all mean for mothers? We have a new name! Soccer moms are so passé. Now Nielsen and other businesses have labeled us “Power Moms.” If you are a woman between the ages of 25-54 with at least one child, then you are officially a Power Mom. I would like to further breakdown the classification into subgroups. Moms of multiples should be Super Power Moms. Have five or more children? Atomic Power Moms.  Go on a reality show with your brood of 10 or more? Psycho Power Moms who may then together form the League of Evil Mammaries.

So, Power Moms, continue planning the calendar and purchasing party supplies on those smartphones. Buy the silly bird app and play it proudly at your kid’s basketball game. Our concerted efforts have vanquished those young techies and our husbands, daddies, brothers and uncles from online shopping dominance. And if you’re ever in need of help, hold that smartphone high like a beacon in the night for another mother to come to the rescue. Or better yet, just type your trouble into google on your phone for a faster, hassle free liberation.

Excessive Estrogen and Memories of Middle Aged Boy Bands

23 Jul

Once in a blue moon, a temporary wormhole opens up on this earth that transfers us back to a happier, more innocent time. An age of neon shirts, big hair and leggings. An era where boy bands ruled the airwaves and young high school girls truly fell for the contrived personalities of each member. A time when you knew anything was possible, even marrying the cute pop star who explained to Tiger Beat that his ideal girl had the same attributes as… well, you and 30 million other starry eyed females. Last Thursday night, a kink in the space time continuum resulted in this magical transportation to the past. What was this wild shifting experience that could alter Einstein’s trusted theories of relativity? New Kids on the Block and Back Street Boys returned to Louisville for a killer concert, of course.

Men beware. When a boy band performs again in a small city after an over 15 year hiatus, women of every age, size and relationship status will follow. A male walking through downtown that night must have felt like Hercules stranded with the Amazons. I have no idea why more men wouldn’t want to attend a NKOTBSB concert. In the words of Maverick , this is what I call a target-rich environment. Yet only few dared to cross the turnstile into the pop band battlefield.

Once inside, female hormones drenched the humid air. It stuck to my cotton sundress, infusing it with a mixture of musty rubber bracelets and a twinge of Calvin Klein’s Eternity cologne circa 1990.  After only three hours in the amorous arena of estrogen, I’m pretty sure at least ten transsexuals spontaneously transformed into biological women and no longer needed their sexual reassignment surgery. Indeed, much like the Grinch’s heart, my breasts grew three sizes that day. That’s the raw power of a New Kids on the Block/Back Street Boys audience.

Concert time finally arrived with elaborate explosions of fire and gentle sparks cascading down on a phallic shaped stage. The boys, if you can call 40 something men boys, did a wonderful job entertaining the audience. Most every song was accompanied by either a pelvic thrust, crotch grab or shirt lift. I don’t remember these little nuances when I first saw them in concert back in high school. But I guess they know the virginity train left the station on most of their fans a while ago, so they must up the proverbial ante. How better to make a married women of 10 years scream in ecstasy than to shake your bottom like a bottle of stuck catsup? And the women did go wild. But it was slightly sad seeing my favorite teen band reduced to a PG-13 version of the Chippendales. Worse yet, my best friend refused to let me hold  up a bright orange neon sign that said, “I’m now legal”. My slogan was much more truthful then all the “New Kids Forever” declarations by the weathered divorcees.

All and all, the mega concert reinforced two facts. I really don’t like being one of a several thousand frenzied women watching only nine hot men sing. I much prefer being in a room with 100 men and only me. That’s why I visit my friend in prison so often a la Silence of the Lambs. Plus, how do I stand out in that sea of bouncing breasts and massive curls, other than streaking the stage and getting arrested myself?

And two, sometimes memories of our childhood loves should just remain memories. People age and grow up. And although Jordan Knight still has “the right stuff”, the magical spell that he cast over me long ago has worn away. Ok, maybe not entirely. But now I’ve at least figured out how to make my husband rehearse some of those thrusting dance moves, grab a baby bottle for a microphone and lip-sync “I’ll Be Loving You Forever”. Oh, what an adventure through the looking glass this might be.

Death with Sugar and Cream Please

6 Jul

On the weekends, my family has started having the local paper delivered. I’ve justified the cost to my husband by saying I clip the coupons. Total lie. I just prefer the old-fashioned way of getting the news. Most readers have their favorite section. My husband goes for the sports. The kids like the funnies. And what do I reach for the first thing on a lazy Sunday morning? The Obituaries.

You might at this moment either think that I’m weird, which I am, or morbid, which I’m not. Ok, maybe a little in a cool Morticia Addams kinda way. But have you ever sat down and really read the obits? Each little passage tells a story of a lifetime, literally. Sometimes I find them the most positive, refreshing aspect of the whole paper. Through these snippets, we learn what’s really important in life: family, schooling, employment, religion, volunteerism, military service. No one ever complains about their neighbors, in-laws, or exes. Materialism vanishes. People concentrate on the true meaning of human existence.

Which got me to thinking. I need to write a guideline for my own obituary. These news articles stay online for ages. Plus, this might be the only 15 minutes of fame I ever receive. Would I prefer to be important enough to have the Wall Street Journal pre-write a piece and place on file when I bite the big one? Of course. But I don’t think I warrant that quite yet. So here are a few rules to follow when composing the synopsis of my life.

1) Include a young photo of me looking smoking. Yeah, everyone looks at the grandma-as-an-old-woman shots as cute. But the great surprise comes when you see a pic of granny in her 20s as a complete hottie. You know she had some good times looking like that.

2) Do not call me a homemaker. I rarely make the beds, let alone the whole house. People should phrase obituaries much like they write their resumes. Embellishments are not only necessary, but required. I think “Small Town Socialite” might do the trick.

3) Mention not only my family, but my friends as well. You might even want to note my enemies and all the secrets I have on them. I do enjoy having the last laugh.

4) Remember, I am a Christian-Buddhist-Jewish-Hindi. Might as well cover all the bases, just in case.

5) Make sure to mention the wine bar at the funeral in the last paragraph. We need tons of people to show for this event. Never doubt, I know how to throw a party. I want music, drinking, reminiscing and laughter. I will be watching either from above, underneath, or somewhere in between. And if you don’t enjoy it, I may choose to haunt you just for the hell of it.

One thing families very rarely choose to list in this final description of their loved ones is the cause of death. Luckily, it seems most of the inhabitants of these pages have lived long lives and died from natural causes. It always makes me smile when I see someone who had made it past 90. Is it me, or do you see the impishness in their photos? I’ve always said I know I’ll live well over 100. According to the foremost authority on breathing and croaking, Billy Joel, only the good die young. I’m much more ornery than the average of American. So I’m thinking 120 sounds good. But if it’s needed, you may list my reason for death as living life to the fullest. Isn’t that the point of it all to begin with?


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